The First Taste(92)

A week without it has made my entire body raw as an exposed nerve. Whenever I look at the photo of her in the bathtub, all I see is what I can’t see. She mocks me, and it darkens my already black mood.

Randy’s still running his mouth about all the ways blowjobs can improve your mood when a Mercedes with blacked-out windows pulls into the driveway and stops. The car idles, but nobody gets out. I give it a onceover, but nothing looks wrong, and it sounds in good shape. Generally, yuppies stick to their dealerships for auto work. “Go see what he wants.”

Pico has his hand down his pants as he scratches his crotch. “’K.”

“On second thought,” I say, “I’ll go.”

The car’s back door opens, and a man on his cell phone gets out. It takes me a moment to place the slicked-back hair, the expensive-looking pinstripe suit that creases and gaps in the wrong places, as if it’s a size too big. If possible, Reggie looks even slimier in a suit than a baby blue polo.

Reggie checks the sign above my shop. When his eyes land on me, he says something into the phone before he hangs up.

“What the f*ck?” I mutter for probably the hundredth time this week.

Randy’s back goes straight. “What’s wrong?”

Reggie and I walk toward each other, meeting in the middle. “What can I do for you?” I ask.

Reggie glances past me, into the garage. “Nice place. Sorry I couldn’t get here sooner. I never really make it to this part of . . . Jersey.”

I crack my knuckles as loudly as possible. The tip of his nose is red and peeling, as if he just got back from somewhere sunny. I wonder what the hell Amelia ever saw in this guy. “What can I do for you?” I repeat.

He looks back at me. “Just one thing, really,” he says with a labored sigh. “Amelia. She’s not really your type, is she? I don’t think you’re hers, either.”

I shrug. “How is this your business?”

“It is.” He puts his hands in his pockets. “She’s got a lot going for her—class, looks, value. She belongs with a man who can give her what she deserves. That’s not a mechanic.”

“She’s a big girl,” I say. “Maybe we should let her decide.”

He sniffs, possibly, I think, because he’s not getting the reaction he wants. “She’s a little mixed up right now. Hurt. When that goes away, she’ll regret this fling you guys are having. But, thing is, I’m not very patient, and I don’t really like the idea of my wife screwing around with some f*ck-up from New Jersey, so I’m ready for it to be over.”

I laugh, a sound that’s menacing and hollow even to my own ears. My irritation is rising up my chest. I don’t care what he thinks of me, but that he’s still calling her his wife needles me, even if Amelia seems to be through with me. “You’ll have to talk to her about that.”

“I’ve tried, believe me. I assumed it was nothing at first, but when you get family involved, it starts to worry me.” He straightens his suit with a derisive glance at my coveralls. “I don’t think Amelia is dumb enough to fall for a guy like you, but I can’t take the chance.”

My face warms. I have to work to keep my breathing even. I don’t know what family he’s referring to. The only family Amelia and I have brought into this is Sadie, Nathan and Bell, and I can’t have this f*ckwad even looking in their direction. “Get the f*ck off my property.”

“Or what? You’ll kick my ass all the way to Hoboken? You’re a thug.”

I take a menacing step toward him. “I’m a thug? I’m not the one trying and failing to intimidate everyone in his path.”

“Whatever Amelia told you, it’s a lie.”

His comment comes out of nowhere. I was referring to myself, not Amelia, although it applies. “What was a lie?”

“All of it. She’s spun quite a tale with you and her therapist. She and I were happy. I never hurt her.”

I lift my chin. If he really believed I was just a fling, there’d be no reason for him to assume Amelia would tell me any of what she did. “She didn’t say you did,” I lie.

He shakes his head like he’s chastising a child. “I have an offer.”

An offer can only mean one thing—some way to convince me to stay away from Amelia. I don’t believe for a second that he’d go head to head with me like a real man. “You better think carefully about how you proceed,” I say slowly, since he seems to have issues with comprehension. “I’m no thug, but I have no problem trying the title on with you.”

He arches an eyebrow. “Is that a threat?”

“You’re goddamn right it is. Caught me on a bad day. Keep talking, and you’ll save me a trip to the punching bag tonight.”

He raises his palms. “Message received. You’re bigger than me, and I’m not an idiot. Muscle over brains, and all that. I’m not here to get violent.” He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a checkbook. “Let me talk in a language you understand. This’ll be the easiest money you’ve ever made.”

I’m barely able to unclench my teeth enough to get the words out. “You’re going to pay me to stay away from her.”

“Break up with her, and stay away. Simple. Everyone gets what they want.”