by Elle Casey
Scrambling to turn the water off, I hold my breath in fear. I’ve almost convinced myself that I imagined the noise when another bang makes me almost jump out of my skin. Someone’s knocking at the door.
“Just a minute!” I say, trying to sound all light-hearted and unconcerned, like I didn’t break into someone’s business and use their shower without permission. And their soap. On my body. Oh my god, what was I thinking?!
“Teagan?” says the voice.
Aaaaand my shame is complete. It’s Rebel. Of course it’s Rebel. Why wouldn’t it be?
I step out of the shower and pull the towel from the floor next to my backpack.
It’s soaked.
Unbeknownst to me, the shower is not water-tight. All of the water from my bathing has somehow drained into my backpack. I pull out jeans that need to be wrung out before I can even think of putting them on.
“That shower leaks,” says the voice on the other side of the door.
“I just realized that.” I’m instantly sick to my stomach. Judge and jury are on the other side of that door and I’m so guilty right now. Guilty of breaking and entering, the very thing that made me come here for a shower in the first place.
The idea that I’d make Rebel feel as violated as I feel over my own break-in makes me want to cry and slap myself at the same time. On top of all that, I have nothing to wear, nothing even to dry off with, and he’s probably already called the cops.
“Are you coming out?” he asks.
“Well … um … I want to, but I’m having a little bit of a problem.”
He doesn’t answer.
We could stand here all night while I wonder what he’s thinking, but my nerves won’t be able to deal with that. I already feel like I’m going to have a stroke. My mouth starts moving of its own accord.
“See, I had a little problem at my apartment, so I came over here in the area for dinner and I saw the shop and I thought maybe I could just use the bathroom, and then I realized I smelled bad, so I thought maybe I could just take a quick shower since it was so convenient, and then the shower got on my clothes, so I’m kind of naked in here without anything to wear.” Oh fuck, I just told my boss I’m naked in his office. Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god. I am such a loser.
He says something I can’t hear very well.
I press my ear to the door. “What?”
No response.
I snatch my soaking-wet towel from the floor and twist it around, wringing it out as best I can. Putting the cold, damp terry cloth on my skin makes me cringe, but there’s nothing I can do about it. I have to get the hell out of here before I make things worse. Before I end up in jail with no clothes. I laugh bitterly to myself when I realize how well my new orange scarf will go with my orange prison jumpsuit. Maybe Quin has psychic powers.
Unlocking the door, I take a deep breath. I twist the handle and push the door open a crack. I can’t see anything but the small hallway that leads to the office area. Opening the door wider, I stick my head out. The office is dark and the front door is closed. Rebel is nowhere to be seen at first, but then I see him coming in my direction from out in the car bay. I slam the door shut and turn the lock again.
He taps on the wood. “Open up.”
“No.” My heart feels like it’s going a million miles an hour. Rebel seeing me naked would be the nail in my coffin. Dead. Gone. Buried in humiliation too deep to survive.
“What do you mean, no?”
“I mean … I don’t want to. With you standing there.”
“Fine. I’ll leave it here.”
I wait a few seconds and then open the door a crack. He’s gone and there’s a pile of something at the bottom of the door. Apparently, he doesn’t want to see me naked any more than I want him to see me naked. Why that disappoints me will remain a mystery for now, because I’m too curious about what’s at my feet.
Reaching down, I grab the nearest part of it and drag it through the opening. As I shut the door again, the material opens up and I realize I’m holding a gray-blue mechanic’s jumpsuit. It’s huge, but it’s clean and dry, so I waste no time in putting it on. The stiff material crackles as I move around, trying to make myself halfway presentable.
A quick brush of my greasy hair and an elastic to put it in a bun and I’m ready to face the music. I shove my soaking wet clothes and towel into my backpack and leave the bathroom.
The office is empty.
CHAPTER TWENTY
I WALK OUT INTO THE car bay with my squishy wet shoes leaving footprints behind me. Rebel is standing in front of a car, staring into its open hood.
I want to start a conversation about him working at all hours, about him not having a life outside this place, about him being generous enough to give me something to wear before calling the cops on me, but none of those words will come. I’m a mute, standing a few feet away from him as I wait for my sentence to be handed down.
“Couldn’t get the mildew out of your shower?” he finally says. When he looks up at me, my heart stops. Holy shit, he is so good looking in jeans and a simple t-shirt. Life is so unfair. Why can’t he be fat and ugly? Hairy? Covered in warts? At least have a pancake butt or moobs for shit’s sake.
“I thought you’d be at the club,” I say, trying to play off my sweaty palm reaction to being near him. “Or out. Having a life.” With a certain blonde bimbette.
He says nothing. He just wipes off his hands on a rag as he stares at me.
My blathering on about stupid shit is not working to ease my nerves, and he couldn’t be more intimidating if he tried, so I downshift into facing reality. “I’m sorry I came in without permission.”
“You have a key.” He shrugs and goes back to staring at the engine.
I’m not sure what he means by that, but my heart starts beating again, making it easier to breathe. “Yeah, but …” I wait for him to admonish me, to make me feel like the ass I am for taking advantage of having his key. But still, he says nothing.
I glance over at the car that seems to have him enthralled. “What’re you looking at?”
“This dog of an engine.”
His response fills me with relief. He’s not scolding me like a child. “Why are you staring at this dog of an engine?” I’m grateful for the change of subject.
He sighs. “I’m trying to decide if I should overhaul it or just put in a new one.”
My eyes scan the hulking body of metal. It’s a long car, with a wider back end than front with a clunky-looking design and ripped up upholstery inside. “Maybe you should just put it out to pasture. It looks like an old granny car.”
He tears his gaze away. “You’re kidding me, right?”
I shrug. “Nope.”
He points to the ugly vehicle. “This is an all-original, nineteen sixty-nine, no-post hardtop Plymouth Roadrunner.”
“Roadrunner?” I giggle, visions of Wiley Coyote dropping Acme bombs on a bird dancing in my head. “Meep! Meep!”
Oh my frigging god. I cannot believe I just busted out the Looney Tunes bird character on him. That blonde-haired girl would never do anything so unsophisticated. My face burns as I stare at the ground and shove my hands in the pockets of my jumpsuit.
I’m ready to jump into the nearest sinkhole when he laughs. He actually laughs.
My face burns brighter, but I grin too and look up at him.
“That’s funny,” he says, a split second before the smile completely disappears off his face.
Now I’m not sure if he really thought it was funny or if he wants to punch me in the head.
“When I finish, this car could be worth between fifty and seventy grand. That’s if I bother with the overhaul.”
I nearly choke on my own spit. “What? Fifty thousand dollars? How much did you buy it for?”
“Ten grand. Found it at an auction. Idiot didn’t know what he was selling.”
“Wow.” I look at the car with new eyes. “Hello, granny car, get into my garage.”
“Yeah
,” he nods, looking at me and then at the engine, “that’s what I said.”
“Really?” I grin with happiness, feeling a connection forming between us.
“No,” he deadpans.
The room goes quiet and I can’t think of anything to say. Unfortunately, he can.
“So why are you sleeping in your car and showering in my office?”
Here it comes. Reality, boom, right hook to the jaw. I scoff to cover up the sudden squeezing sensation in my chest. “Sleeping in my car? Please. What are you talking about? I’m not sleeping in my car.”
He looks over and frowns at me. That’s all it takes to make me cave.
My expression crumbles into one of shame. “Fine. I was planning on sleeping in my car. But I hadn’t yet, so technically, … whatever. I had to shower here because my bathroom is messed up and my apartment isn’t safe, so yeah. That’s my fucked up life. Sorry I got you involved in it.” I cannot get the image of that perfectly coiffed, perfectly dressed blonde from the club out of my head every time I look at him. She was like glue on his side. He must look at me and see next to nothing.
I turn to leave, but he reaches out and grabs some of the jumpsuit material near my arm. “Don’t walk away. It was just a question.”
“Are you going to call the cops on me?” I can’t look at him. I’m too afraid of what I’ll see.
“Why would I do that?”
I glance up at his face to see if he’s just messing with me. “Because I broke into your office and used your shower without permission.”
He lets go of my arm. “You can’t break in if you have a key.”
“I’m pretty sure I can and that I did.”
“Not in my book. Tell me about this apartment.” He walks away before I can answer, so I’m left to trail after him like a puppy. But it beats standing in the car bay all by myself, so I do it without complaint.
“It’s not far from here,” I respond. “While I was at work someone broke in and punched a hole in my wall. So I can’t stay there until I fix the locks.”
“What’s keeping people from going in and stealing all your stuff right now?”
“Uhh … a sign.”
He stops partway to the main door that leads to the parking lot, facing me partway. “A sign?”
“Yeah.” I give him a crooked smile. “I made a sign.”
He goes over to rummage around in a cabinet, pulling some things out. “Take me there,” he demands. Pushing open the main door, he leaves me in the office.
I run to catch up. “Take you where?”
He’s waiting outside and closes the door behind me, locking it with his key. “To your apartment.” He walks around the side of the building where my car is parked. I guess I wasn’t so slick with rolling my car into the lot. He knew I was here the whole time probably. Dammit. Foiled again.
I suddenly realize what he’s doing. “No, that’s okay. You don’t need to do that.” I jog to catch up. I don’t know what I’m worried about more now, him seeing my apartment or him seeing me outside this work environment. He’s like a giant magnet sucking me in and he’s not even trying. I don’t know how I’m going to breathe being in my tiny car with him next to me, let alone my apartment with that damn sperm-bed staring at me.
He’s opening up the driver’s side door as I get around the corner of the building.
“What are you doing?”
“Driving. Give me the key.”
My jaw drops open. “You can’t drive my car.”
He looks at me from his seated position, his eyebrow going up a little. “You don’t think I can or you aren’t giving me permission?”
“Neither. Both.” I blow out a huff of air. “I don’t know. Here.” I slap the keys into his hand and go around the back of the car, muttering to myself. “Stupid bossy guy. I wish he’d just called the cops.” It’s not true, but it helps me get over the shame of having him see my sorry-ass car and soon my even sorrier-ass apartment.
I scowl the entire way over to my place, pointing to give him directions but saying nothing. I feel my face getting warmer and warmer the closer we get.
“Turn here,” I say at the Golden Legacy. “Park anywhere.”
He follows me past the algae-green pool and up to my apartment door. We stop in front of the broken doorframe as he reads my sign aloud.
“Fuck off and go get a life. I have nothing to steal in here.”
Hearing it makes me feel a tiny bit better, like I’m fighting back in my own small way. I really am a badass sometimes. Strong. I can do this shitty life. I know I can.
He shakes his head and pushes open the door. We stand in the entrance, him staring at my one-room palace and me looking at the expression on his face. I cannot tell what he’s thinking at all. He would be so good at poker.
“What’d the landlord say about this?” he finally asks.
“She was gone when it happened, so she didn’t say anything.”
“Cops?”
“Didn’t bother calling them. Nothing was stolen.”
He shakes his head again, moving into the apartment. Grabbing a box, he starts throwing stuff into it.
“What are you doing? I can clean this later.”
“Pack it up. Pack it all up.”
“What? Why?” He’s already got most of my clothes into two boxes before I get a response.
“You can’t stay here.”
“I know. That’s why I was in my car.” I move towards him and take the box from his hand, dropping it on the floor. “Don’t worry about it. I can clean this up later.”
“I’m not cleaning. I’m packing.” He grabs another box and throws my books and papers inside.
“I just moved in here!”
“And now you’re moving out.”
My jaw drops open and my hands settle on my hips. “You’re not the boss of me!”
“Yes, I am.” He doesn’t even look at me. He just keeps packing.
“Maybe at work you are, but not here.” I take two strides in his direction and grab the box he’s holding in his hand. Yanking on it, I fully intend to end this little game right now. “Give it,” I insist.
He doesn’t let go. Instead, he pulls the box towards him and I lose my balance, falling into him. “You give it.”
Suddenly we’re in a tug-of-war over that stupid box. I grab it with both hands and yank for all I’m worth. “Leave it alone!” I shout. “This is my crap and my problem and my apartment!”
“Everything okay in here?” says a voice from the doorway.
I drop the box instantly and straighten up, embarrassed to be caught having a tantrum. “Oh, hey, Julio. What’s up?” I brush my loose hair to the side and wipe off my sweaty upper lip with the back of my hand.
He takes a step inside. “You need my help?” He’s eyeing Rebel and taking on a fighter’s stance.
Rebel backs up a little and bends over, throwing more things into the box, ignoring Julio’s obvious threat.
I try to snatch the box away from Rebel while also keeping an eye on Julio, but he moves it out of my reach.
“I’m okay,” I explain. “I’m just having a little argument with my boss.”
“Your boss?” Julio relaxes his stance a fraction.
“Yeah. This is my boss.”
Julio screws up his face. “You’re a … you’re a …” His mouth moves, but the words stop coming out.
“I’m a what?” Now I’m pissed at him too. None of the people in my life are acting right, including me. I hate that I have no idea what’s going on in my world right now.
Julio’s face goes red and he backs towards the door.
“What?!” I yell at him.
Rebel speaks up from behind me. “She’s not a hooker and I’m not a pimp. I own a car repair shop and she’s the secretary there.”
Julio breaks out a huge grin. “Ooooh, yeah, okay … that makes way more sense.”
I cross my arms, now offended for a totally different reason. “What? I can�
�t be a hooker, is that what you’re saying?”
Julio laughs and gestures at my outfit. “Not wearing that, you can’t.” He backs out of the apartment. “Talk to you later. Or maybe you’re moving out …?”
“No.” I say, at the exact same moment Rebel says, “Yes. She is.”
“Okay then,” Julio says, still smiling. “Later. Come see me before you’re gone for good.” He disappears down the hall.
I turn my ire on Rebel. “Who do you think you are?! You can’t just come in here and take over my life. And for your information, I’m not a secretary.”
He drops the box he was holding in his hand. “Fine. You want to stay here tonight by yourself?” He starts walking towards the door. He’s almost there when I realize what I’m about to do. Yeah, I’m stupid, but I’m not that stupid.
“Wait!” I scream before I can get a handle on my emotions.
He stops.
“Please don’t go,” I say in a calmer voice. “I’m sorry I’m being an asshole. Really, I am. Just … if you could help me fix the door, that would be awesome.”
He turns around real slow and stands there looking at me.
My heart is beating wildly in my chest and I’m breathing heavily from it. When he takes three steps in my direction, I have to force my feet to stay in place and not run me into the far corner of the room.
He stops when he’s in front of me, and I have to tilt my head up to see his face.
“It’s not safe for you here. Fixing that door with the tools I have with me isn’t going to be enough. I’m going to let you stay in my brother’s apartment for a few days until you can get this worked out. You can pay me rent for it later if you want, but you can’t stay here tonight. I’m sorry if you don’t like me saying this, but I’m not going to let you do it. It’s as simple as that.”
For a few seconds I can’t think of what to say. Then my brain decides there’s one thing that’s more important than commenting on responsibility and friendship and bossiness and protectiveness and a girl who stood looking perfect at a club on his arm and all the other things that might be going on here or that need to be said.
