I caress the steering wheel, running my finger around the outer edge of the circle teasing the temptress beneath me. I adjust in the seat, running my hand down the gear shift, stroking up and down to get a feel for the beauty under my hands. Then, I run my flat palm over the passenger seat to feel the texture of the tattered threads before I bring my hand back up to trace the steering wheel once more. When I’ve gotten used to the feel of the car, I grip the gear shift and make sure it’s in first before pulling out.
I feel the car move beneath me as the tires fight to grip the road while the engine pulls to carry the machine, and the car moves in the cold, winter weather. I drive to my house and hit the remote door opener to the garage and pull her in.
Opening the door to the apartment, I call Floyd. “Come on, girl, just a four block run.”
When we get back to Olivia’s parking lot, I open the passenger door to my car, and Floyd starts to jump in.
“You do, and you’ll be sleeping on the floor.”
She stops and I take my coat off to throw it over the seat.
“Get in and keep that ass on the coat, understand?”
Once home, I play around with Olivia’s car, realizing she needs a solid tune up and a couple belts replaced. I am gonna put in a new battery, too.
I clean the inside and hose her down. I could easily get lost in this for hours, and I do. Eventually, I look at my watch, and before I know it, it is two in the morning. Son-of-a-bitch. I’m gonna be late to pick Livi up. I don’t want her walking in the cold. As much as I want to stay away, I can’t. Now, my attempt at avoidance has backfired. I’m anxious to see her again. Plus, I’m excited to tell her about her car.
Chapter Eight
I shouldn’t trust him. I shouldn’t be so comfortable around him. He’s my boss, for Pete’s sake. There is something familiar about him, though. More than that, there is something mysterious about him. Why is he being so nice to me? He picked me up from work to tell me he has my car and is tuning it up. Why is he fixing it for me? Why do anything for me?
Fairytales are for little girls with dreams. I believed once upon a time. Could my new boss be a knight covered in tattooed armor? I could certainly daydream about it, since he seems to show up everywhere I need him to be. Out of necessity I have always taken care of myself. I have never wanted to ask anything of anyone. Hendrix doesn’t make me ask.
I rub my butt, thinking about my blinged-out panties that say, ‘I’m a survivor,’ on them. My new job has been stressful and challenging, but I am surviving.
I head into the hospital with a little pep in my step. It’s nice to see the good in a world full of bad.
The day quickly goes south when I have to help a family make arrangements to take a loved one off life support. The hard part of my job is helping people face the needs for such forms as a DNR—Do Not Resuscitate—a living will, or a medical POA—Power of Attorney. When it involves a child, it tugs at my heart strings even more.
This family is facing the loss of their nine-year-old daughter. She was in a bicycle accident, hit her head, and she is never going to wake up. Brain function is gone. Decisions have to be made, hard decisions I couldn’t imagine having to make, but it is my job to be a place of support and information.
“I’m sure Broody Boss will be happy to wipe away your tears.” Toni tries to cheer me up after finalizing all the documentation for the family. Apparently, I talk too much about my part-time job at my full-time job for the girls to even know their nicknames, huh?
“Broody Boss isn’t so bad. It’s better than Slick always trying to get in my panties.”
“You ever gonna find out their actual names?” Tabby chimes in.
“I’ve listened to them enough that I think Broody is Hendrix, Slick is Morrison, and Sporty is Jagger.”
“Wait, Hendrix, Morrison, and Jagger? Are you serious right now? I didn’t catch onto that the night we got to watch them shake their ass on the bar.” Toni laughs as she keeps saying their names. “‘Detroit Rock City and their rocking rebel bachelors hosting ladies’ night at Hooligans.’ I can just see the advertising now. This makes for great marketing.”
“Stop it.” I laugh at her.
“Just trying to keep your mind off this job, sweets. And your other job is a great distraction for us all. If only the closet romp guy would come back around, then it would be an even better distraction.”