Motorhead

by Landish, Lauren

  I love Brad like the brother I never had, and he feels the same about me, but with both of us having such big personalities, a little life balance is in order for us to do our best work. Besides, the way he somehow finds men who are open to his advances from outta nowhere makes me jealous .

  And since work is the priority, we decided having separate homes was the right choice to keep us clicking properly. Jealousy doesn’t make for a good work environment .

  Plus, that means we each get multiple closets since he has just as many, if not more, clothes as I do, and the vision of our sharing a bathroom makes me shudder a bit. Friends, yes. Knowing each other’s toilet habits, no thank you .

  With an airy kiss in my direction, he grabs the bank bag and heads out the door. The little bell over the door tinkles, and I decide to get back to actually wrapping up work. There may not be a cabernet upstairs for me, but I do have a couple of bottles of a local craft brew IPA that I could easily enjoy with the Chinese food .

  I’m head-down, focused on the floor and sweeping all the stray hairs I missed throughout the day, when I hear the tinkling of the bell above the door. “Sorry, we’re closed . . .” I start as I look up to see Jaxson stepping in with a smile, his hand raised in a wave. “Jaxson .”

  His smile grows as he sees I’ve remembered his name. “Hey, McKayla, hope I’m not interrupting. Just wanted to stop by and see how it’s going . . .” He tapers off like there’s more he wants to say, but he just looks at me. When I don’t reply, his smile slips a little before recovering. “So, how’re you doing ?”

  “I don’t think we could’ve dreamed of a better first week than the one we actually had. It’s going great, better than we’d even hoped. Just cleaning up for the night.” I gesture vaguely around the salon and he looks around .

  Jaxson nods, looking semi-impressed at least. “I have to tell you, this place looks amazing. I don’t know anything about fancy salons out in LA, but you guys seem to know what you’re doing .”

  I smile politely, then realize something. “Hey, how’d you know we’re from LA? I don’t think I mentioned that before.” I see a flicker cross his eyes, but it’s so fast, I think maybe I imagined it .

  “I thought you did, or maybe I heard folks talking about it at the grand opening last week. That’s right, isn’t it? I’ve been telling everyone about our town’s new famous Hollywood dynamic duo.” He says it with such a big smile that I can’t help but smile back .

  I try and think back. Maybe I did mention it. I mean, if I didn’t, I’m sure Brad did. It is sort of our calling card, bringing legit Hollywood skills. I just haven’t said much because I didn’t want to come off as arrogant to the locals. “Yep, that’s us. Started in two different places, hooked up in Hollywood, and now ready to rock on our own. I guess that makes us movers and shakers .”

  I laugh a little at my own joke and then remember I need to finish cleaning up. Looking at the floor, I wiggle my broom a bit. “Sorry, Jaxson, but I really need to finish cleaning up for the night. Thanks for — ”

  I’m just about to give him the polite brush-off, broom pun intended, when he interrupts me. “Oh, let me help. You’re not exactly dressed for cleaning .”

  I look down at my slim leopard print pencil skirt, puffy shoulder black top, and red patent platform heels. I bite back a little, not taking kindly to having my style questioned. Sure, it’s a little over-the-top, but it’s typical me for damn sure. I’m out there and fucking fabulous, and the rest of the world can like it or go fuck themselves. “Well, this is how I always dress and how I always clean, so it seems to work just fine .”

  Jaxson seems to get the point because he steps back, giving me a bashful look. “Oh, I didn’t mean that to sound bad. Sorry, I meant it as a compliment. Most women around here wear yoga pants and t-shirts to clean, jeans if you’re really getting fancy. But you’re like a walking, talking pin-up from the 1950s, Bettie Page reincarnated. You take care of your appearance. I dig it .”

  Cringing inside at my immediate jump to thinking he was insulting me, I try to backpedal a bit. I mean, he’s not my type, but he’s not being an asshole either. “It’s all right. I’m used to guys not really knowing what to think about my wardrobe, and usually, when people think ‘different’, they think ‘bad’ for some reason, so I’m a little defensive. Ever heard of Dita von Teese ?”

  He steps over and takes the broom from my hand, bending down to sweep up a little pile of hair. He looks up from the floor in front of me and I’m struck by the intimacy of the position even if he is a foot away. If my skirt were just a little higher, he’d be able to see quite a bit more than I normally show men I’m not interested in. “Never heard of her. Tell me .”

  I hear a little bit of command in his voice and I’m surprised. Well, well, well. Maybe Mr. Politico-Nice Guy has a little fire after all. It’s probably wrong that it makes me like him just a smidgen more, but honestly, it does .

  “Well, you said Bettie Page, right? Think of Dita like the woman who sort of picked up Bettie’s ball and ran with it. She’s a fashion icon, known for her vintage style, mostly 30s and 40s. She models, designs, and dances too. I’ve always been inspired by her flair for classic drama, but I have to mix a bit of rockabilly in for myself too. I’m too wild to be that traditional .”

  Jaxson laughs. “Did you just say you’re a hillbilly? No offense, but we’ve got some pretty country folk around here. No hillbillies though .”

  I laugh back. “No, rockabilly, kinda rock-n-roll with a little country mixed in. Think 50s Pink Ladies meets sexy-sass and given a twenty-first-century twist .”

  Jaxson smiles, tilting his head as he leans on the broom and looks me up and down, obvious in his appraisal .

  I freeze and can’t decide if I feel good or bad about his attentions. I should be able to tell, but I just can’t get a read on him and that makes me nervous. While I normally go for rougher types, there’s a little something in his overall vibe that leaves me questioning just how vanilla he really is .

  Jaxson breaks the tension after a moment, pursing his lips and humming. “Well, whatever you call it, it works for you.” His face stays serious for a moment, waiting for my reaction, but I stay quiet for a change. Talking is the easiest way to drag this out, and I just want to turn in .

  Brad would be fucking proud of me for keeping my big mouth shut because that’s a rare reaction for me. I’ve got a bad habit of talking my way into problems and sometimes not being able to back out without shit going down. Actually, one of the first times Brad and I worked together, that was the case .

  Jaxson, not hearing the ‘thank you’ he’s expecting, changes tack and smiles again. “Hey, you had dinner yet? We could grab something to eat ?”

  He looks like an earnest little boy, and I’m about to snatch his new favorite toy away . . . me. But I’m not the kind to be treated as anyone’s little plaything. That’s probably part of the reason I have such a problem with the bad boys. I can get on for the ride, but eventually, I want to take the wheel sometimes too. Jaxson strikes me as the type to want a sweet little woman who does what he says, definitely not the kind to let me run full-throttle on occasion, and that more than anything makes up my mind for me. “Thanks, Jaxson. But I’m beat. I just need a little down time to recover from the crazy week and get ready to do it all again .”

  His face falls in disappointment, but with a breath, he rallies. “Sure, I understand. Maybe some other time ?”

  I hum noncommittally and walk him toward the door, a clear indication that I’m dismissing him. He relents and follows me, stepping outside as I pull the door open. He pauses, looking down at me just as we’re nearly pressed against each other while he slides his way through the door. Suddenly, I’m aware of how much bigger than me he is. I’m not a tiny woman—well, not that tiny—but even in my five-inch platforms, he’s got at least six inches of height on me. But where I’m curvy and full-chested, he’s slender and wiry .

  A s I look up, I don’
t want to back up. I don’t want to give him the impression that he’s got rights in my own store, but I do lean back in an attempt to get some personal space. This is my bubble, and that is your bubble, dude .

  His eyes are flickering, but I don’t feel heat. His eyes are stone cold as he looks at me, not like a man looks at a woman, not even like a human being looks at another human being, but like someone would look at a bug, or maybe a bauble in the store that you want to buy only to throw away later .

  I feel the decrease in space on a visceral level as he leans in, turning my face away as he kisses my cheek. His lips are dry, papery thin as he holds them against my cheek for a split second that feels like an eternity .

  I press against his chest, cringing away, desperate to get him the fuck out of here. “Look, uh . . . Jaxson, one of my faults is I’m blunt as fuck, so I’m just gonna say this. I’m new to town and not looking for anything romantic. Friends, sure, but nothing more. I appreciate your help with the city council stuff, but that’s it .”

  Jaxson smiles at me. “Sure, I get it. But you won’t be new to town forever. Just trying to get to know the new girl in town .”

  It sounds reasonable but makes me narrow my eyes at him anyway. I may not be new in town forever, but after what I just felt, if hell froze over and Satan himself knocked on the door asking for a date, I might be more interested in the Prince of Darkness than this man. “I understand. Please, I need to get cleaned up .”

  He steps further out and begins to walk away, turning to offer a two-finger wave. “I’ll see you later, McKayla .”

  I watch as he gets further away. Nothing he just said was off, but still, there’s something about him that gives me pause. I look up and down the dark sidewalk, noting how alone we are .

  I still haven’t gotten used to how things are so quiet around here. Except for certain nights, it’s one of those towns that rolls up the sidewalks when the sun goes down, a hell of a long way from LA with a quiet time of three thirty in the morning . . . sometimes .

  If Jaxson had nefarious intentions, he damn sure would’ve had an opportunity .

  With a sigh, I shake my head, telling myself that I’m not in LA, and every nice guy that chats me up isn’t a boogieman I need to be wary of. Right before I turn inside, a red light twinkles across the street and I squint to get a better view .

  The red cherry of a cigarette. Evan. Yeah, Evan’s his name .

  Chapter 6

  Evan

  I ’m a watcher. I can’t help it. Ever since I got back from my last deployment, where I spent days in hiding, frozen in mountainside caves or rooftops or wherever the fuck they sent me, staring at the world around me through a scope, I have kept the same habits .

  Don’t engage, don’t draw attention, just lie low and observe and you’ll know more about everyone and everything than you thought possible. I’ve relaxed a bit in the time since I’ve been home, made a few friends who can put up with me running hot and cold, and bought a big ass bike that draws attention but turns people off from the dirty biker, but I still watch .

  Mostly, though, I watch because I still don’t feel like I belong . Sure, TJ puts up with my ass and old Earl holds out hope for me, but when I walk around town or when I go to the supermarket, the people I pass just don’t seem like the same species as me. They’re smiling in that sort of pleasant smartphone-induced haze that’s filled with Facebook updates, manufactured outrage over some people you don’t really give two shits about, and kitten pictures .

  Part of me remembers the time I was about the same. Just a softer, carefree kid coming home to a working-class house with parents too busy to pay any attention to me and TJ unless the school was calling again. I just kinda skated by, passed my classes, hung out with buddies, and just coasted through days without much thought .

  Quiet and shadowed against the front of my building, I’ve downed two Monsters while peering into the salon across from me, still caught in my reflections. Why did I join the Army? It wasn’t out of any great desire to wrap myself in the flag and go play soldier boy. I remember that. I’d seen the JROTC crew sweating it out in the parking lot, twirling their rifles and shining their helmets while my friends and I sat on tailgates in the school lot, just goofing off. I thought they looked like idiots .

  So why did I join? I guess the answer’s simple—it was something to do to get me out of here and grow up. I saw friends getting more and more lost, trying drugs and working dead-end jobs, and at some point, I realized I wanted more than that. I figured the military might make a man out of me. How was I supposed to anticipate spending most of my time outside of basic training in a godforsaken desert? How could I have known what I would see . . . what I would have to do ?

  I watch Brad leave, and my eyes tick back to McKayla, who is sweeping up, bending over in a skirt that hugs her every curve like it was custom-made for her. She may be a Pretty Pink Princess, but she’s built like a pin-up queen .

  Hell, I don’t know. She’s a Hollywood girl. Maybe it was made for her curvy measurements. She hasn’t made a big deal of her background. I think she’s left that in Brad’s hands, but the rumors have gotten around, and a few people have Googled her. Supposedly, she’s done some pretty famous shit, not that they advertise who cuts the hair on summer blockbusters .

  I’m about to go inside for the evening when I see that prick, Jaxson, striding down the sidewalk, and I shrink even farther into the shadows so he won’t see me. I stand there, hidden except for the wisps of smoke from the cigarette I’m just holding as a cover while I stand there not moving, watching for twenty minutes while he chats up McKayla, obviously trying to lay the mac down on her. He even tries sweeping like a dutiful servant before she ushers him out the front door. I have to smirk . . . I may not know a lot about McKayla, but it’s not the way to impress that woman. She’s the kind who I bet loves to get treated like a queen, but only from a man strong enough .

  My fist tightens against my thigh when I see him lean in to kiss her, but I damn near guffaw out loud when I see her bob and duck away from his advance. Damn, last time I saw moves like that was when Ali was making people look like fools in a boxing ring on YouTube .

  Good girl. Smart girl, I think. You don’t want to let him in even an inch .

  He walks away, turning back for one more wave, but she stays outside, glancing along the street for a moment. I predict when her gaze will hit the front of the garage and take my first drag on my cancer stick, lighting up the cherry, and like a moth to a flame, I feel it when her eyes latch on to my location .

  It’s not what I should do, intentionally drawing her attention like that, and honestly, I don’t even know why I do it. I just want her to know I’m here. She squints for a moment, making sure her eyes aren’t playing tricks on her. I toss my can to the side, where it rattles as it makes its way into the trash barrel that TJ insists on keeping right outside the office door . . . probably because of my damn cans .

  I’m smiling, knowing McKayla’s about to hairflip away again and stomp inside. I’m already focused on her hips, ready for the quick view of her ass in that leopard skirt, when I realize that she’s not turning to go inside and instead, those curvy hips are getting closer as she struts across the street toward me. As she gets close, I look her up and down. “So, wanting to see the bike again ?”

  She’s not amused. “Hey, asshole, you just perving out over here now? Get an eyeful ?”

  I smile, but it’s a small consolation. “Evan .”

  Her thunder stolen, she stares at me, confused. “Huh ?”

  I raise an eyebrow, “You called me asshole. My name’s Evan.” Patting my chest in a mocking thump, then pointing at her, “Me Evan, You Princess. Just thought you’d want to know who you’re bitching at. Continue.” I wave my hand in a come on gesture, since while I know I’ve knocked her back a little, she’s not the kind to stay that way for long .

  She smirks, continuing. “I said . . . Evan, a.k.a. Pervy McPerverson, maybe you should
take a picture. It’d last longer.” She eyes me like saying my name is asking her to chug a lima bean juice frappe .

  I smile, and it’s a real one, a rare occurrence these days, as I’m struck with a thought. Curious, I ask her, “Maybe one of you trespassing on my bike? How’d that turn out, anyway? Get what you needed ?”

  It’s the longest string of speech I’ve offered her yet, and judging by the shock on her face, she realizes that too. Her sails deflate, and while it takes a little bit out of the fiery sexiness she’s got, it also makes her cuter in a lot of ways. “Yeah, about that. I really am sorry. I did try to ask, and when nobody answered, I meant to just stand in front of it and not touch. I got carried away. I’d say it won’t happen again, but that’d be a lie. My whole life is pretty much me getting carried away by crazy ideas and wild adventures .”

  I huff out a laugh at her honest admission. “So tell me, what’s the craziest idea, the wildest adventure you’ve ever been carried away on ?”

  She looks up to the sky like there’s an answer written in the sparks of the stars, humming as she searches her memory. Considering how long it’s taking, either she’s going to lie her ass off or she actually has gotten into some crazy shit. I’m kinda hoping it’s the second .

  Finally, looking me in the eye, she starts. “Well, I’d say the time I dared to touch a guy’s bike without permission, but maybe that’s not so crazy after all. How about ditching Hollywood and moving to a new town to start a new business when I only know one person in the whole town? Meh, you know that too. Let’s see . . .”

  She taps her lips with black painted nails that glitter in the street lights, and I feel a long forgotten tingle in my jeans. It’s not that the equipment doesn’t work, but usually, the demons are running around too much for me to do anything about it. “Well?” I ask, trying not to laugh. “Let me guess, you went to a club and Leonardo DiCaprio walked in . . . and walked out ten minutes later with you and every other woman in the club in tow .”