As she opened the flaps, the perfumes inside wafted out. She sneezed.
Beatrice settled on the stool behind the counter. “The cheap stuff? That always sets off your allergies.”
Stella laughed through a cough. “My one true gift. Identifying crappy perfume.”
“Girl, you have many gifts.”
Stella sat on the floor, hoping to concentrate on work for at least a few minutes. She knew Grandma would not approve of moping, especially over her. She pulled a pink bottle from the box. “What is this junk you’ve bought? Something called ‘Eau de François’?”
Beatrice heaved herself from behind the cash register to weave her way through the pink-draped product tables. Today she wore a bright green pantsuit, much too flashy for her weight. She looked like a watermelon in a wig.
Stella passed her the bottle, shaped roughly like a heart. A sparkly topper covered the spray nozzle.
Beatrice aimed a light spritz into the air. She sniffed. “Ugh. This is the four-dollar stuff, right? For teens?”
Stella cut the invoice from its plastic sleeve. “Yep. $3.89 per. Retails at $8.99.”
“It’s a cute bottle.” Beatrice turned it over in her hand. “Make a little display with that pink tissue paper with glitter in it. We’ll sell it to the kids.”
Stella wrinkled her nose. “People will buy it, and I’ll have to smell it.”
Beatrice set the bottle back in the box. “We haven’t talked about yesterday.”
Stella walked to a shelf, moving a case of bath beads aside for the new display. “Nothing to talk about.”
“You. Water tower. Rain.”
“Just an impulse.” Stella rapidly pulled out pink bottles, calculating how many would fit.
“You still planning on blowing out of Holly?”
“And leave you?”
Beatrice paced the store, adjusting the perfumes lined up on the window displays. Her ample silhouette was almost eclipsed by the glare of the light. The floor-to-ceiling glass ran the entire front of the shop, the morning sun setting all the colored bottles aglow. “You’re the best salesgirl I’ve ever had.”
Stella picked up the box, now partially empty, to carry to the back. “You’re lucky to have me. But I’ll stick around a bit. I can’t leave Grandma Angie now.”
A motorcycle roared up to the curb, and they both turned. The man wore a black T-shirt with the sleeves cut off. His jeans were tight, and the belt stood out as definitely not from Holly, black with silver spikes. He pulled off his helmet, and his profile was masculine—sharp jaw, scruffy beard. He didn’t buy into the current trend of rattails or boy-perms. His black hair was traditionally cut, with a wave in it, but gelled into submission to be sleek, almost wet.
He swung a leg over the bike, hooked his helmet over the handlebars, and strode toward their door. Stella perked up, but Beatrice waved her on back. “Go find the pink paper. I’ll handle this one.”
Stella frowned, but shrugged. The last thing she needed was a complication. Grandma Angie was the only thing holding her here. She certainly didn’t need a man.
But another glance at him as she passed through the curtain to the stockroom changed her mind. A stranger. A dangerous-looking one. She set the box on a table and tiptoed back, pushing the red velvet aside just enough to watch the man with Beatrice.
“So tell me about the girl,” Beatrice said, eyeballing his outfit, sizing him up for a price range. She could separate the big spenders from the cheapskates. And not everyone was as obvious as you’d think. Sometimes the high rollers in fancy suits wouldn’t spend much at all. And a teenager might bring in a fifty to impress some girl. Beatrice always knew, and Stella was pretty good at pegging them by now.
The man shrugged. “Kinda flashy. Wears lots of color.”
Beatrice reached beneath the glass counter at the register and pulled out Beautiful, Obsession, and Opium. Mid-range stuff. The man fingered the boxes, and his strong, dark hands kept Stella rapt. She could already imagine the places they would go.
“Passing through or new to Holly?”
“Just got in town a few weeks ago.”
Stella wondered where he had lived before. Something about his nose seemed familiar. Maybe somebody’s cousin.
“Where from?” Beatrice asked as he pushed one of the boxes toward her without smelling any of them.
“Texas. Near Houston.” He leaned on the counter, his butt jutting out. Stella gripped the curtain a little tighter. She definitely needed to learn more about this one. She didn’t care about the girlfriend. Half her exes had already been in possession of girlfriends. She did, though, leave the married ones alone. She wasn’t that kind of home wrecker. But otherwise, she figured she was showing the other girls the true colors of their men, ahead of the white dress and diamond ring. They could take that knowledge or leave it.
The man fished a wallet out of his pocket and paid for the Obsession. Not a half-bad choice for someone unwilling to sniff the actual product. Beatrice didn’t carry a whole lot of junk, though, other than the kiddie scents.
“Is the girl local?” Beatrice was asking, stealing a glance at the curtain. She knew Stella was there.
“Yeah. Name’s Darlene.” He stuck the change in his wallet, tossing the coins in the little dish by the register.
Beatrice took her time wrapping the package. “Darlene Woods or Darlene Pittman?”
“Woods.”
Stella grimaced. God, she hated that girl. Good-for-nothing. Back-roads whore. What was this guy doing with the likes of her?
“And you are?” Beatrice handed him the pink box.
“Dane. My brother works down at Joe’s. They needed a bike mechanic. So I came up. Seemed like a good change.”
“Holly’s a nice little town. You treat that homegirl right, you hear?”
Dane laughed a little, the gentlest hint of color crossing his cheeks.
The image of him and Darlene going at it made Stella’s stomach burn.
He turned and walked out of the shop. His motorcycle fired up again, his chiseled jaw disappearing in the helmet.
“You done gawking?” Beatrice asked.
Stella stepped through the curtain. “That one was worthy of the gawk.”
“Agreed. But taken.”
“No one stays with that two-bit floozy for long.”
“She’ll hang on to this one, if she knows what’s good for her.”
Dane circled out of the spot. His thighs filled the jeans just so, black boot perched on a silver bar. She had to track that boy down and get him out of Darlene’s clutches. “Her bleach jobs last longer than her relationships. And she’s a gold digger.”
Beatrice stuck the duplicate of the sales receipt on a silver spike. “She grew up poor. That can do it to you.”
“Yeah, well, I wasn’t exactly rich.”
“You always had food on the table.”
Stella moved back to the curtain. She ran her hands along her hips. “Too much, maybe.”
“You’re a skinny little mite, and you know it,” Beatrice said. “Talk to me when you’re my size.”
Stella passed through to the stockroom, searching the shelves for the pink paper. That would never happen.
As she unfolded lengths of the sparkled tissue for the display, she thought about Dane again, and how they might meet. Grandma always seemed pleased when Stella met a new man, saying, “You never know which piece of coal is a diamond in the rough.” Maybe talking about it would make Grandma come to a little, give her a little spark.
He worked at the garage. Certainly someone had a car that needed a little service.
4
Prepping for Dane
––––––––
“I think this is a super-bad idea. One of your worst.” Janine capped the hot-pink nail polish and blew on her fingers.
Stella snatched up the bottle and shook it. “You’re just not as adventurous as me.”
“Nor as stupid.” Janine flung herself back o
n the bed, holding her hands in the air. “Darlene is going to attack with fur flying if you go after her man.”
A floorboard squeaked outside Stella’s door, and both girls silenced. Janine propped herself up on one elbow and whispered, “Your mom?”
Stella nodded. That stretch of hallway had saved her more than once. Vivian was an eavesdropper. “Hot pink is a great color on you.”
Janine sat up. “You doing your toes?”
Stella opened the bottle and applied a brush of color on top of the old chipped version below. “Yes, I like them pink.”
The floor squeaked again. They paused, waiting.
“She’s gone,” Stella said.
“You totally have to move out.” Janine stood to look through the makeup on Stella’s dresser. “You’re too old for mama to be hovering.”
“I couldn’t save money as fast if I got a place on Renters’ Row. I don’t want out of this house. I want out of this TOWN.”
Janine spritzed herself with Obsession. Stella grimaced. “That’s the stuff he bought for Darlene. Don’t come anywhere near me with it. I don’t want to smell like her.”
Janine pointed the bottle at Stella threateningly. “Then promise you won’t leave me.”
Stella set one foot on the floor and started on the other. “You know I can’t do that.”
Janine stepped forward again, aiming the nozzle at Stella’s throat. “What am I supposed to do in this town without you?”
“Your boyfriend.”
Janine set the bottle back on the dresser. “Thank God for him.”
“Y’all going to get married?”
“Eventually. Mama says we might as well wait. Plenty of time later to get sick and tired of him.”
“I never do.”
Janine peered over Stella’s shoulder at the polish. “You never stay with anyone long enough to GET sick and tired.”
Stella capped the bottle. “Yeah, well, I saw that sort of misery up close and personal.” She frowned at the door, the only thing that kept her parents’ unhappiness at bay. “You can keep that perfume. I’ll never wear it.”
Janine turned back to the dresser. “Wow. Thanks.”
“Just don’t use it around me.”
Janine plopped back on the bed. “Darlene is nobody to mess with. If she’s sunk her claws into this guy, she’s going to fight.”
“We’ve known Darlene since we were kids. She never wins.”
“True.” Janine picked up the polish and shook it. “But that brother of hers. He’s a problem.”
“I can handle Bobby Ray.”
“Like you did in his trailer?”
“Doesn’t matter. He didn’t get anywhere.” Stella moved to the mirror, tugging her hot-pink shirt off one shoulder just like Flashdance. “This too much?”
Janine came up behind her. “Not on you.” She fluffed Stella’s hair out another inch, sprayed into an airy puff just above her shoulders, blond as gold. “He’s not going to be able to take his eyes off you.”
“Except for these.” Stella lifted her hands up to reveal nails ragged and chipped despite pink polish. “Not much that can fix this. Color makes them look worse.”
“I have just the thing.” Janine opened her purse and plucked out a package of Lee Press-On Nails in bloodcurdling red. “Every girl needs her daggers when she’s going in for a catfight.”
*
Grandma Angie’s white Mustang put-putted down Main Street, occasionally spewing a cloud of black from the exhaust. Vivian had forbidden Stella from taking the family car.
But Grandma Angie had always wanted Stella to have hers and even gave her a set of keys that Vivian didn’t know about. Stella never used the car, though, as one of Vivian’s ex-jerks was the sheriff, and he took to pulling Stella over whenever he spotted her. So usually she walked.
But not today. She patted the vinyl seat. “Thank you, Grandma.”
She only had an hour while Vivian was off at Bible study, and of course the car hadn’t started. Stella called Janine to have her boyfriend come and jump it. Stella knew how to attach the cables, but the nails would fly off at any pressure, and she was too anxious to get to Joe’s to deal with putting on a new set.
Stella could, in fact, change her own oil, rotate her tires, and clean a carburetor. She wasn’t into being a helpless nit, and besides, boys liked it when girls knew the difference between a Chevy big block and a Ford 302.
She punched the button to turn on the radio, hoping something suitable would play before she drove up to the garage. Maybe it could be her and Dane’s song. She got so enamored with the idea that when she found nothing but commercials and “You Can’t Hurry Love,” she drove around the block a few times, hoping for something else. Grandma’s car didn’t have a tape deck, so she couldn’t force a mood.
The opening drum licks for “Maneater” made her mad. Stupid fate. “She Blinded Me with Science” wasn’t exactly ideal. She was about to give up and just shut the damn thing off when she found another station. “It Might Be You.” A little cheesy, but yeah. Why not?
She passed the gas pump and pulled up to the bay doors. Hopefully it’d be quiet, and she could spot Dane.
Old Joe stood just inside and waved her in, tugging a rag from the pocket of his navy overalls. Stella frowned, peering into the dim light, hoping he wasn’t alone. In the back corner, two men leaned on a workbench and laughed. She almost missed Joe’s signal to stop and slammed on the brakes, embarrassed by the sudden squeal.
The two guys looked up, and her heart caught. Dane. And another guy—what was his name? Ryker. That’s right. He’d moved to town a year or so before. Joe had hired him out of semi-desperation after knee surgery, when he couldn’t crawl under cars for a month.
Stella hadn’t run into Ryker very often. He liked his women older, and she liked her men her own age. He was probably thirty, maybe more.
But now she recognized the nose. That’s where she’d seen Dane’s before. On Ryker. He must be the brother Dane had mentioned to her boss. She could see it in how they laughed, the shape of their heads when they turned to her.
“Stella?” Joe was leaning over, tapping on the window. What little hair he had stood out like an electric shock.
She shook her head. The song! Damn! It was nearly over, and she’d forgotten to roll the windows down. And now it would play for Joe! She turned the volume down.
Joe opened the door. “Taking Angie’s car out for a spin?”
Stella tried not to look at the corner to see what Dane was doing. “Yeah. Hasn’t had anything done to it for quite some time.”
Joe stepped back so Stella could get out. Her shirt was all cockeyed and wasn’t even falling off her shoulder anymore. She tugged at it self-consciously, and a fake nail popped into the air. Damn it!
Joe reached in front of her to release the hood. “Needs oil, no doubt. Maybe a filter. We’ll take a look-see.”
He moved around her again, walking to the front of the car. “You can hang around here or come back in half an hour. Unless there’s something major wrong, we’ll have her ready.”
Stella walked carefully toward the front, glad for flat shoes. The floor was gritty and strewn with bits of rubber tire and loose nuts. Joe’s didn’t have a recessed pit like the commercial shops. He jacked cars the old-fashioned way or rolled underneath on a creeper.
“Hey, Ryker,” he called over his shoulder. “Bring me a couple quarts of basic Penn.”
Stella watched Ryker head to a storage cabinet. Finally Dane moved toward them.
“What we got, boss?” Dane asked, eyes on Stella, not the car.
Stella thrust her chin out. That was more like it. She cocked a hip, holding his gaze.
Joe stepped up, wiping the dipstick on a shop towel. “Nothing major. Fluids. Filter. Check the tires, will ya?”
Dane tugged a gauge from his hip pocket, still watching Stella. This was going so much better than she’d hoped.
Stella leaned against the car, ri
ght beside the passenger-side front tire. “This one might be low.”
Dane knelt by her bare leg and twisted the cap off the valve stem. The pressure gauge popped out as soon as he pushed it in place. “You’re right,” he said, looking up at her. “Could use a little something.” The light crested off the perfect waves in his black hair. His jaw could have been made of steel. Damn. Boys like him didn’t come through Holly too often.
“I’m Stella.”
“Dane.”
A snort behind them broke the mood. “This looks like a set-up for bad porn.” Ryker set four yellow bottles on the roof of the car.
Dane stood, elbow landing soundly in Ryker’s belly. “Sorry, man. Didn’t realize you were so close.”
Ryker backed away with a rush of air, but laughing. “I’ll get the film crew.”
Stella’s face radiated heat. What a jerk.
“Ryker,” Joe called. “Get down there and drain the oil.” He shoved a creeper with his foot to roll it in the brother’s general direction.
Stella and Dane exchanged a conspiratorial grin as Ryker grimaced. Dane moved to the next tire, and Stella turned to watch, loving the shift of his arm muscles in the sleeveless shirt, the curve of his back. She so wanted a piece of that.
Footsteps approached, a crunch on asphalt, and Joe cleared his throat. They all looked up at the same time.
“Yoo-hoo, Dane, boy. Where are you?” The voice came from a figure, backlit as she entered the garage, quickly morphing into Darlene.
Stella stiffened as the girl glared at her, then leaned down to Dane’s level, forcing his head around for a kiss. Darlene wrapped her fingers around his neck, showing off red nails. Stella hid her mismatched fingers behind her back.
Darlene stood, as tall as Dane in neck-breaking heels. Her black miniskirt was tight and so short that it barely even existed. She wore a red halter and matching red balls for earrings. She passed by Stella, too close. “Like the perfume?” she asked. “Dane said he stopped by your shop. Did you sell it to him?”
Stella faked a smile. “He has good taste. In perfume.”
Darlene strutted around the car. “So, Joe, baby. You going to let Dane go? Doesn’t look busy at the moment.”
Tangled: A New Adult Romance Boxed Set (12 Book Bundle of Billionaires, Bad Boys, and Royalty) Page 116
