Revved to the Maxx

by Melanie Moreland

It should have been an early warning sign, but as with everything else wrong between us, I had chosen to ignore it.

  And now it had happened again. The room had been changed—except this time, it had been done to please me. To make me happy.

  It was an odd feeling.

  I looked down at Charly, her expression tugging at something inside me. Her chin was jutted out, proud and strong, her stance rigid, but her eyes were filled with worry and trepidation, giving away her inner turmoil.

  “You did good,” I murmured. “It’s exactly right.”

  Her shoulders sagged in relief. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.” I hesitated, then tapped her nose playfully. “Thank you.”

  She sighed, appraising me nervously. “Okay. One down.”

  I frowned. “One? What the hell else have you done?”

  “Don’t start with the growling, Maxx Reynolds.”

  “Then answer me, woman. What else have you changed in the house?”

  “Nothing,” she replied, her gaze skittering over my shoulder then back to my face.

  I turned and peered out the window in the direction she had focused on.

  “What have you done to the garage?” I snapped, thinking of the last surprise that had awaited me in the garage. It hadn’t been the least bit pleasant. Without waiting for an answer, I spun on my heel and stalked outside, heading for the building. Charly followed, grabbing at my arm. I shook her off, glaring at her when she rushed in front of me, blocking the door.

  “You have to keep an open mind, Maxx. Promise.”

  I was particular with the garage. I had it set up exactly the way I liked it, and the thought of her messing with that made me angry.

  “Out of the way, Charly.” I scowled.

  “Please,” she begged. “We all worked on it so hard.”

  “We?” I asked, confused.

  “Me, Brett, Mary, and a couple of your customers.”

  My customers?

  I huffed out a long breath, knowing if Mary was involved, she would never allow anyone to do something to the garage I would hate.

  At least, I didn’t think she would.

  “Just open the damn door, Charly.”

  She twisted the handle and stepped in, never turning her back to me. She flicked on the light and stood back, letting me follow her.

  At first glance, everything seemed to be normal. The bays in order, the tools in the right spots. Then I saw it. The walls had all been painted a fresh coat of beige. The long wall by the office was a deep, rich red. It was covered with pictures. I walked closer, narrowing my eyes as I took them in. The entire history of the garage was on that wall. Pictures of my dad working in the shop, repairing lawnmowers, bikes, and cars. Me beside him, growing up over time. All three of us standing by the sign at the end of the driveway, my dad’s arm thrown over my mom’s shoulder. Images of my mom in the office. There were photos of the various bikes I had restored, ones I’d worked on with my dad.

  It was a wall of memories.

  The next thing that caught my eye was the old sign that used to hang at the end of the driveway. It had been cleaned up and hung in one corner, a tribute to the old days. In the opposite corner was a later sign, still outdated, but part of the history of the place.

  It was the center sign that made me frown. I moved forward, studying it.

  The old signage had been a tire and the name. Reynolds Restorations. Simple.

  This one was bold. Black. The image of a muscled arm gripping a wrench in the middle.

  Reynolds Restorations and Repairs

  Hard as Steel.

  Performance Guaranteed.

  Hard as steel?

  I turned my head. “What the hell?”

  “A new look.”

  Before I could reply, she held up her hands. “Open mind, Maxx. We can discuss it later once you hear all my ideas.”

  I exhaled hard. “Fine.”

  Charly flicked on the light in the unused waiting room, and I went inside. The old metal and vinyl seats had been recovered and polished. The walls painted. There were more pictures. Old tools that were no longer usable, but my dad had never tossed out, had been shined and hung intermittently. Some of the old license plates my dad collected were hung between them. There was a water cooler in the corner.

  I shook my head, unable to take it all in. I returned to the garage, looking closer at everything. The pictures. Discarded items that Charly had made important again and hung as a tribute to the past all around the garage, but in places where they were out of the way so as not to interfere with the purpose of the building. One of the old garage shirts, a set of overalls. More tools and a few spare parts. It made the garage eclectic and…fun. It gave it a look and feel that was somehow what I had been looking for and unable to find.

  And it had been done by a slip of a girl. A sassy, mouthy redhead I loved to give a hard time. Who somehow reached into my mind and figured out what I would like and made sure it happened.

  I prowled around, exploring, seeing it all with new eyes. Finally, I stopped in front of Charly. She was anxious, paler than I had ever seen her, the freckles on her skin standing out in sharp contrast to the white of her skin. Her hands were clenched in fists by her sides. I had never known her to be so silent for so long. I could tell how much this meant to her, how desperately she wanted my approval.

  I searched her eyes, the anxiety evident. The need to erase the worry tore through me, rendering me silent for a moment. It wasn’t a feeling I was used to.

  Our gazes were locked, a battle of wills happening between us. She expected me to argue, yell, or tell her I disliked it. Demand she take it down. If I did that, she would yell back and call me ungrateful and a grump, then storm away, mad and hurt.

  Except, that wasn’t what was going to happen.

  “We’re talking about that new logo.”

  “Okay.”

  I drew in a long breath. “Good job, Red.”

  Her eyes widened, and before she could react, I hauled her against my chest, and I kissed her.

  Chapter 17

  MAXX

  Everything I had pushed out of my mind when it came to kissing Red came roaring back to life once my mouth was on hers again. She was life. Air. Passion. I lifted her, amazed at how well we fit together. She wrapped her arms around my neck, twisting the ends of my hair between her fingers, whimpering as my tongue stroked along hers. She was so right in my arms.

  And completely wrong.

  With a low groan, I released her, setting her on her feet. Slowly her arms slipped from my neck, and she opened her eyes, meeting mine.

  “You kissed me.”

  “I did.”

  “I don’t recall asking you—”

  I cut her off with my mouth again. I loved it when she was spitting fire at me, all indignant and pissed off.

  She bit my bottom lip, yelping as I smacked her ass then lifted her back into my arms. She wrapped her legs around me, and I palmed her ass. She had a great ass, fitting into my hands perfectly.

  I stumbled in the direction of the waiting room, sitting down heavily on one of the newly refurbished benches. Red straddled my lap, sliding her hands into my hair, grinding down on my aching cock. I slipped my hand under the loose shirt she was wearing, tracing along her spine, my thumbs stroking the edges of her full breasts. She gasped into my mouth when I dipped under the lace and my fingers found and stroked her nipples. She pulled back, her breathing erratic.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Do I really need to explain this to you, Red?”

  She narrowed her eyes. “You keep calling me Red. You only call me that when you’re about to, you know…”

  I lifted one eyebrow. “You know?” I repeated.

  Her voice dropped. “When you’re about to fuck me.”

  Charly rarely ever swore. Hearing her say the word fuck did something to me. I grinned at her.

  “Keep grinding on me like that, and there’s no doubt one of us is going
to be fucked.”

  She jumped up, slamming her hands on her hips. “If you think you’re going to defile me in this clean waiting room, Maxx Reynolds, you have another think coming, mister. Gosh dang it, I worked hard to get this room ready, and you wanna lube up your dipstick and mess it all up?”

  I gaped at her tirade, trying to quell the quirking of my lips at her vehemence.

  Defile her? Had we returned to historical times?

  “I mean, it’s a great dipstick and all, but have a little respect.” She turned and flounced out of the room, strutting across the garage. I swear to god she was sashaying those hips of hers far more than necessary.

  It didn’t help my erect…dipstick.

  Then the humor of the entire situation hit me, and I began to laugh. Huge guffaws of mirth burst from my mouth. I dropped my head back against the vinyl seat and let it out. The stress of the last few days, the amazement at what she had done while I was away. The instant passion I felt whenever she was close.

  How it felt to see her standing in my house, looking as if she should be there. Greeting me every day when I walked in the door. The shift in my chest when I saw what she had accomplished in the garage. Her quiet desperation she couldn’t hide from me, hoping I would like it.

  And how fucking right she felt in my arms. Under my mouth.

  I had been right. Red hadn’t straightened my world. She had blown it to smithereens.

  The question was—did I want to try to fix it?

  When I finally stopped laughing, I walked around the garage again, noticing more details. The wipe-off boards, the price list on the wall. I tried not to smirk when I noticed that although the services were neatly written out, the prices had not yet been added. Red was waiting for me to tell her what I wanted those to be. I ran a hand through my hair, trying to take it all in.

  How the hell had she done all this in less than a week? Plus the changes to the house? Another thought occurred to me. How the hell had she paid for all this? Even if she used all two hundred bucks in the petty cash, that wouldn’t even cover paint.

  I grunted in frustration. I hated owing money. I hated not knowing how much money I owed. I locked up the garage and headed toward the house. I needed to find out.

  Red was in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, eating her dinner. When I walked in, she met my eyes, then dropped her gaze.

  “I’ll eat and get out of your way,” she mumbled. “You must be tired.”

  I stepped in front of her, halting her movements, her fork hanging midair. I braced my arms on the counter, boxing her in. “You aren’t going anywhere until we’ve talked. Go sit at the table and I’ll bring my dinner and join you.”

  “You-you want to eat with me?”

  With a wink, I grabbed her fork and guided it to my lips, the chicken and rice casserole flavor exploding in my mouth. I chewed and swallowed. “Damn, I like this one.”

  “You can have your own, Maxx. You don’t have to eat my dinner.”

  “I wonder if it will taste as good,” I mused, smiling when I saw how flustered she was becoming. She blinked and looked around as if she were making sure I was talking to her and not someone else in the room.

  I pushed off the counter. “Sit. I’ll get some of my own, and we can eat. Then we’re going to talk. You better have the right answers, Red.”

  “I always have the right answers. Depends if your grumpy ass listens to them.”

  I swatted her butt as she went by, amused at her yelp. “Show some respect,” I repeated her words from earlier. “My grumpy ass always listens.”

  “Whatever,” she muttered. “You listen with one ear blocked, and the other is already deaf.”

  I chuckled as I scooped a massive amount of the casserole onto my plate and grabbed some cutlery. I sat beside her, and we ate in silence for a few moments. She got up and came back with glasses of ice water, setting one down in front of me, then taking her seat again and continuing to eat.

  She was a slow eater, small mouthfuls, chewing thoroughly between bites. She patted her lips often with her napkin and took long drinks of her water. Compared to the way I dove into my meal, devouring it and refilling my plate, she was refined. Delicate.

  That word almost made me snort. Delicate wasn’t a word I would associate with Red. Ballbuster, maybe.

  I must have made a noise, because she looked up from her plate. “What?”

  I shook my head around a mouthful, chewing and swallowing. “Nothing.”

  She frowned.

  “You’re a slow eater.” I pointed out.

  “I was always so busy making the meals and doing the dishes after, eating was my chance to relax a little,” she admitted. “I savored my dinner, even if it was simple.”

  “Nothing wrong with simple. This is delicious.”

  “Thanks.” She pushed her plate away. “Did you want pie?”

  “Later.” I finished my dinner and took both the plates to the kitchen, returning to the table. I rested my elbows on the table and studied her. She looked tired.

  “Aside from changing the garage and my house, anything else happen while I was gone?”

  She pursed her lips. “Oh—Terry pled guilty. He’s in jail and will be there a long time. I won’t need to go give a formal statement or anything.”

  “Good. That’s good.”

  She shrugged. “That’s about it, really.”

  Silence hung in the air, and I smirked.

  “How did you do it all, Charly?”

  She crossed her arms, leaning them on the table. “Now I’m Charly again.”

  I shrugged. “You’re both. But right now, yes, you’re Charly. I want to know how you did all you did in less than a week and with two hundred bucks.”

  “Well, the living room cost nothing but a paint tray and a gallon of white trim paint. That was fifty bucks. Mary had the material, and we made the curtains.”

  “And the garage?”

  She fidgeted a little in her seat, then snagged a file off the chair beside her. “I paid cash for the paint. I traded Brett some extra food to help me paint after hours.”

  “Extra food?”

  “He likes breakfast and cookies.”

  I liked cookies too, but I refrained from mentioning that.

  “Brett knew a guy who did dry mounting,” she continued. “I traded him a tune-up and some oil changes on his motorcycle and his wife’s car for all the pictures. He helped me hang them for free because he thought it was a cool idea.” She slid some papers my way, and I scanned them. It was a basic agreement of what she had stated.

  “Mary had a friend who knew how to reupholster stuff. I paid for the supplies and traded some more oil changes and a tune-up on her car for the work.” She slid another paper my way. “The water cooler I got at a garage sale for less than ten bucks, and I cleaned it up. I bought the jug and the cups, which cost another twenty. I bought a couple of containers of CLR to clean up the tools. Brett’s dad gave me a discount.”

  More receipts slid my way.

  “Most of what was done was labor, and that was free. Brett and Mary helped. Cam dropped by to see how things were going, and he helped move things in from the barn. He called another friend of yours—Jack—and he came and helped too.”

  I was silent for a moment, amazed at what she had done and how she had accomplished it. Mentally, I added up the money spent and scrutinized her. “This is more than two hundred, Charly.”

  “I used the money you gave me too, and Mary loaned me the rest. I owe her $147.53.” She twisted her hands. “I went over budget—sorry.”

  I stared at her. Over budget. She had spent less than six hundred bucks, and my garage was epic. My house felt like me again. Charly had no idea.

  “I owe her. And you.” I drummed my fingers on the table. “That money I gave you was for you—to buy things you need.”

  “There was nothing I needed. This was far more important.”

  Her words reverberated in my head. Nothing she needed
. More important.

  Once again, Shannon came to mind. She constantly needed. Wanted. Always asking for money, complaining about her lack of…everything, it seemed.

  “You’ll have your money in the morning. And your paycheck.”

  “I’m not worried. I trust you.”

  The words were out before I could think. “I trust you as well.”

  Her eyes grew round. “What was that? I didn’t hear you.”

  “I am not repeating that. You heard me.” I scowled.

  “Oh, there he goes, all grumpy bear-man again.”

  “You seem to bring it out in me more than other people.”

  “It’s okay, I like it—most of the time.”

  “Most of the time?”

  “I like your growls and when you’re kinda grouchy.” She tilted her head. “It’s rather hot. I don’t like it when you’re angry.”

  “So growly Maxx, not angry Maxx. I’ll try to remember that.”

  She slid one last piece of paper my way. “I had to register the domain name and pay for the website I’m building. That required a credit card, which I don’t have. Mary let me use hers, so you owe her for that.”

  I scanned the document. “I’ll pay her this right away.”

  Silence fell as I looked over everything, then slid it all back into the file Charly had on the table. She was very organized and detailed. I appreciated it more than she could understand. Then I gazed at her.

  I couldn’t take my eyes off her. Sitting at my table, her legs pulled up to her chest, she looked as if she belonged there. She watched me watch her, the air around us beginning to heat the way it always did when we were close.

  “You should hire Brett,” she blurted, instantly breaking the mood that was descending between us.

  “Why?”

  “The customers like him, he does great work, and he likes it here. He even likes his little room. He says it gives him a break from people. I think he means his dad.” She rubbed the end of her nose, scrunching it. “I think his dad treats him like he’s still sixteen when he’s there.”

  “Yeah, I remember Brett saying that before.”