Zero to Sixty

by Marie Harte

  “Oh.”

  “Johnny and she are living together. Probably get married once he gets the stones to ask her.”

  “I’m sure he will if she bakes for him.”

  Sam nodded, drank again. They hadn’t spoken much about Cookie. And considering that’s why they’d met up, she tried to get them back on track. Because tonight was not a date.

  Ivy wasn’t so much against relationships as she was about doing things right this second time around. She’d made major mistakes with Max, letting him walk all over her, being too nice, supporting him to the detriment of herself. So with a new man, she’d make all the rules and let him take care of her for a while. Not that she’d take advantage. No, she and her man would be equals, but she’d like to be pampered at least a little bit.

  Going out with Sam was only about the dog. He’d said as much. And she kept ignoring her disappointment because of it.

  When Sam’s intense stare turned into a scowl, she followed the direction of his attention and looked to her left, to see him eyeballing the men who’d been staring at her earlier. “Who are those guys?”

  He flicked an icy gaze back to hers. “Why? They say or do something while I was at the bar?” As if anyone would have dared.

  “No. But they don’t seem to like me much.”

  “Let’s find out why.”

  “No, Sam, wait—” But he’d already risen and stalked to her unhappy fan club of two.

  “What the hell’s your problem?” he snarled at the younger man.

  “Your bitch keeps making eyes at my old man.” The younger one sneered. “Tell her to keep her snooty tits to herself. Unless she’s willing to sit on my—”

  Sam cold-cocked him before he could say another word. The younger man slumped to the ground, groaning and fingering his jaw. “Sac up, Goodie. I barely tapped you. Get your sorry ass gone before I rip your fucking head off. My friend and I are talking, and your attitude is on my last nerve.” Then he shocked Ivy anew by grabbing the old man by the throat. “Drop the knife, Senior, or I’ll gut you like a fucking fish.”

  She stared in surprise at the knife in the man’s hand that clattered to the floor in the sudden silence broken only by the crackle of an old Bowie tune.

  Senior grinned, showing missing teeth. “Sure thing, Hamilton. Don’t turn your back next time, though. You won’t see me coming.”

  “I won’t, you old prick. Man, talk about some fucked-up genetics.”

  Before Sam could do any more damage, the bouncers ambled over and took charge, being a bit gentler, but not by much, before tossing the Goodie family out of the bar.

  Sam returned to the table and sat, and the noise in the bar resumed. She just stared at the tight constraint in the man. Just moments before, he’d erupted into violence.

  “You okay?” he asked quietly. “Sorry about that, but Goodie’s a prick, and his old man is as bad—where he gets it from. They’re mad because they lost money last week and they blame me.”

  “Why would they blame you for that?” she asked, her mouth dry. She drank more beer.

  “Because they placed their bets on the wrong horse.” He looked stone cold.

  Suddenly, she needed to be anywhere but here. “I think I should go.”

  He blinked. “Go? We haven’t talked about Cookie yet. Or you.”

  “Me?”

  “Well, if you want Cookie, you have to prove you’re the best one for the job.”

  She frowned. “Really? Because it seems to me that a man who starts trouble, punches people in the face, and is mean to his best friends shouldn’t be the one having so much say-so on who gets a stray puppy.”

  He sat straighter in his chair, and for a moment, she wondered if he’d lean across the table and grab her by the throat, as he’d done the old man. When he set his elbows down and moved toward her, she jerked back.

  He froze. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

  She flushed. “I know that.”

  “I don’t think you do.”

  He sounded hurt, which confused her. He’d just beaten a man up. Knocked him down with one punch. “Well, maybe I don’t. I don’t know you that well, Sam. And I just watched you put a man down with a big fist. Then you held that old man in place with one hand. He was on tiptoe nearly off the floor. That’s a lot of strength. Forgive me for being cautious.”

  He nodded, but the ice in his eyes refused to melt. “Makes sense.”

  “Look. It’s been a long week, and I’d like to go home now.” Before she did something silly and burst into frightened tears. Ivy was tougher than that. But she’d never been around such violence, and her distress that the night hadn’t gone well added to her frustration and resentment. Just once she’d like to go out with a man, even for a simple beer, and not have it end in disaster.

  “Yeah, fine.” Sam stood when she did. “Put it on my tab, Rena,” he called out and placed a hand on the small of Ivy’s back.

  She started but didn’t pull away. Instead, she moved closer to him as they pushed through the rough crowd. The masses parted for Sam like magic. Before she knew it, he’d walked her outside.

  “My car is over there.” She pointed a few rows back. “Thanks for the beer and cookies.”

  “I’ll walk you over.”

  She felt a sense of relief that she wouldn’t have to walk through the dark and dangerous lot by herself. Whatever else she could say about Sam, he seemed the protective type.

  At her car, he waited while she unlocked the door. He didn’t cage her in, but stood back enough that she wouldn’t feel smothered. Kind of like the first time she’d met him, when he’d given her a lot of space so she could get him her business card. She wondered if he did that a lot, because he gave the appearance of being so large and threatening.

  She paused before getting in. Instead, she turned around to see him watching her. He seemed dejected, though she couldn’t have said why she sensed that. As before, he wore a nearly emotionless expression.

  “Well, it was interesting.”

  “My nights usually are,” he deadpanned.

  She smiled then and, unable to help it, laughed. “Sam, you sure know how to show a girl a good time.”

  He gave her a ghost of smile before shrugging. “What can I say? It’s a gift.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. He did that a lot too. “Sorry about the bar. I guess… Ah, hell. Well, I’ll text you about the dog. Just let me know when you know something, okay?”

  From her landlord. “I will. And thanks for standing up for me in there.” At least, that’s what she thought he’d done. For all she knew, she was a convenient excuse to pummel people.

  He shrugged again, then turned to walk away. “Later.”

  It didn’t seem right, this ending. She couldn’t stop remembering that sweetness in his smile. The joy sparkling in his eyes as he’d cared for Cookie. She took a step and latched on to his arm, which stopped him in his tracks. He turned, slowly, to face her.

  She tugged him toward her. When she could reach him, she kissed him tenderly on the cheek. Goodness, he smelled good. Like sandalwood and man—nothing off about Sam Hamilton. His beard had been surprisingly soft.

  She pulled back and saw him frozen, his eyes wide.

  “Thanks for keeping me safe in there. I’ll talk to you soon.” She patted his chest once, then stepped back and got into her car. She started up and left, checking her rearview. And saw him staring at her while she drove away.

  * * *

  Sam watched her go, not sure of anything as he let the feeling of her warmth fill all his cold places. Just…damn. Such soft, warm lips on his cheek. He touched the spot, still feeling her there. The despair that he’d ruined everything earlier faded, replaced by an unfamiliar sense of hope that hadn’t been with him in years. Not since first realizing he and Foley had a home at Webster’s.

 
He forced himself to drop his hand and turn, heading back to Ray’s. Once inside, he moved through the throng of loud revelers and joined Foley at the bar. He didn’t see Lou. A glance down at the puny guy sitting on the stool next to Foley had the dude leaving in a hurry. Apparently Sam didn’t just scare women into leaving. He scared men too.

  He rubbed his cheek, still feeling Ivy’s soft lips there. Maybe he hadn’t scared her too badly after all.

  “I notice your friend isn’t with you.” Foley took a sip of his beer, staring at Sam.

  “She had to go.”

  “I’ll bet.”

  Sam sighed. “Probably shouldn’t have asked her to meet me here on a Friday night.”

  “You think?” Foley snorted. “Dumbass. What the hell, Sam? You like this chick. I can see why. She is fine. Sweet. Much too nice for a place like this.”

  Sam frowned. “She’s not all that nice to me.” Except for that kiss, or the way she looked at me that one time with Cookie. When she kept her hand on my arm the whole walk to her car.

  “Good. You’d eat up nice and spit it out.”

  “True.”

  Foley knew him so well. And he was right. Ivy was nice, despite the way she’d given him some attitude. What the hell did Sam think he was doing sniffing after her?

  Foley frowned. “So what happened with Goodie?”

  “He and his old man were dicking with Ivy. I didn’t like it. So I made them leave.”

  “Oh. Good.”

  “Freaked her out, I think. She wanted to go home.” He stared at his hands on the bar, seeing the calluses, the bruised knuckles, the roughness. “I walked her to her car.” He looked at Foley. “She gave me a kiss on the cheek before she left.”

  Foley blinked, then gave him a wide smile. “Yeah? That’s good, man. Means you’re not totally up shit creek yet.” He yelled for Lara, now working behind the bar. “Hey, honey, a beer for my buddy.”

  Sam glanced at the empty pitcher in front of Foley. “You know, I’m betting that’s the pitcher I left behind. This next one’s on you.” While they waited for Lara to fill one up, Sam studied his friend. “You still pining for Cyn?”

  “Always.” Foley sighed, then ruined his sad effect by grinning. “It’s kind of nice when she leaves, because when she comes back, I get rewarded for being the good boyfriend. I get her flowers; she gives me looove.”

  “I hate you when you’re like this,” Sam muttered. “Thanks, Lara.”

  Lara winked at him, her brown eyes deep, as dark as the straight hair pulled back in a ponytail. Hot and nice. Yet she’d chosen to take on Johnny. Like Cyn had glued herself to Foley. Maybe there was hope for him. If other decent chicks could see something beyond the ink and grease covering his hooligan friends, maybe Sam had a shot with someone as pure and sweet as Ivy.

  His phone buzzed, and he drew it out, a small part of him hoping Ivy had changed her mind and wanted to get back with him tonight. Maybe a drink somewhere quieter? But when he checked the ID, he saw a number he dreaded.

  But a reminder of the truth helped.

  Ivy wouldn’t want him. No woman did. When would he learn?

  He drained his glass, still nowhere near to being even slightly drunk. “I’m done. Going home to turn in early.”

  Foley narrowed his eyes but said nothing more. “Cool. Want me to come?”

  “Nah. Celebrate being alone for once. You know, not tied at the hip to the mean woman currently running your life.”

  Foley smirked. “Good point. Lou’s driving, and I’m drinking. I just have to be careful he doesn’t challenge me to darts, knowing I’m off my game.”

  Considering Foley was never on his game in darts, even when sober, Sam shook his head and left. On the drive to Johnny’s, he called Louise.

  And wished he hadn’t.

  * * *

  Monday morning at the garage, Sam felt as if he had the mother of all sober hangovers. And yeah, his mother had caused it. He hated the woman, as much as he reluctantly loved her. Just more proof he had nothing going for him, because what kid hated his mom? The woman who’d suffered to give birth to him?

  Now he was out the two hundred dollars he’d been hoping to put toward a pneumatic impact wrench he’d had his eye on. His was about shot, and Foley kept giving him evil looks when Sam asked to borrow his. But Louise was short some cash, so he’d given her what he had.

  She’d leave him alone for a few months, probably. That made him feel better about giving her the money. Not loaning her the dough, because the woman claimed he owed her a few bills here and there. And who was he to argue the fact?

  He sighed and busied himself under the body of a Nissan Altima’s broken catalytic converter up on lifts. The springs had 14mm nuts on them, but they were majorly corroded. He had a feeling he was going to have to torch the suckers. He did, melting them enough that he could remove them without breaking the studs. That’s all he’d need, to have to drill those out too, making this repair even longer.

  He’d checked what Del had scheduled for him today, and he didn’t have time to waste on a stubborn assembly not wanting to come out. As it was, having to use the torch meant he’d need to wait for the components to cool off.

  “So. Ray’s? Really, Sam?” Johnny must have been feeling brave this morning, digging right into Sam’s shit early on. Lou and Foley had focused on work, fortunately not much on conversation before nine.

  Sam glanced at the clock on the wall, saw it had reached ten, and sighed. “What do you want? A fist in the gut, the face, or your nuts?”

  He heard Lou laugh over the low drone of Alabama on the radio.

  “Lara told me she met your friend. Funny you didn’t say anything about it when you picked up your dog. So what happened?”

  Sam sighed and stepped out from under the car. Johnny supposedly could charm a woman out of her panties in no time. At least, according to him. Though Sam had met enough of Johnny’s ex-girlfriends to know the guy had skills. He also had looks. Prettier than Sam by far, though he lacked Sam’s muscle. Johnny always had a grin and a smart comeback, and the guy could run like a deer. Most likely the reason he was still breathing was that he could outrace trouble.

  Truth to tell, Sam liked the guys—and gal—he worked with. He considered them a loose kind of family even. Del and Liam, his bosses, treated him like he belonged, and he never took that for granted. Lou could be a dick sometimes, but the guy was a class act. Took care of a shitload of family—all women—and never did less than his best on any job. Sam liked that kind of work ethic. It was a lot like his and Foley’s. Johnny worked hard too. He was a smart-ass, but Sam kind of liked his humor, mostly when it wasn’t directed his way.

  Getting back to Johnny’s comment, he shrugged. “I came to get my dog, not to talk you to death.”

  Johnny gave him a sly grin. “Word has it, ‘Cookie’ isn’t your dog. He belongs to some pretty blond and you’re just holding on to him for her. That true?”

  Sam noticed the sudden silence in the garage except for the radio. “Bunch of gossiping motherfu—”

  “Sam,” a female voice roared. “Watch that mouth! I’m still collecting.” Del Webster, soon to be Del McCauley in a few more weeks, rattled a glass jar half-filled with quarters. She could probably fund a honeymoon to Hawaii with all the money she’d been gathering from everyone who swore in her garage. Even her father wasn’t immune.

  Most likely the reason why Liam had been so scarce at the garage lately. That or he was continuing to cozy up to the current lady in his life. Sam liked her. Any woman who could put up with Liam had to be angling for a heavenly reward. The guy was sixty but looked forty, still worked out every day, and handled his kids with a firm hand. And a whip, mostly likely. Right now Del appeared a little wild around the eyes.

  The eyes of a wolf—light gray and piercing. She wore her ash-blond hair in funky brai
ds, had her own set of tattooed sleeves clearly visible on her muscular arms bared by a SpongeBob T-shirt. A nose stud and eyebrow ring complemented her striking looks.

  But those eyes gave a guy pause more than anything. When she was in a mood, they fairly glowed. Yeah, she freaked him out a little, even after all this time. He’d never met a woman brave enough to face him head-on and not blink at witnessing him in a rage. Not too long ago, she’d stepped between him and Foley in a real doozy. Yet she’d still asked him to come back to work.

  He lied, totally out of quarters and not wanting to get into trouble this early on a Monday. “I was just going to say mother hens.”

  “Well, okay then.” Del huffed.

  “Seriously?” Johnny gaped. “Motherfu and mother hen? Not seeing it.”

  Del arched a brow, and Johnny mumbled something and went back to his station to fix a beat-up Acura.

  Pleased he could finish his work without all the emotional nonsense that lately seemed to clutter the garage, Sam moved back under the Nissan and—

  “Ray’s, Sam?” Del sighed. “Even for you, that’s pathetic. A first date should be somewhere a little more romantic than sticky floors and Lara’s cookies.”

  “Cookie. That’s the name of Ivy’s dog,” Johnny added, so unhelpfully. “Ain’t that cute?”

  Sam swore under his breath. “Shut it, Devlin.” Maybe if Sam ignored them all, they’d go away.

  Del tapped her foot. “Waiting.”

  “Shit, Del. I’m working.”

  She just held out the jar.

  He patted his pockets through his coveralls. “Foley, spot me. I’m empty.”

  “That’s like ten bucks you owe me,” Foley complained, but Sam soon heard the clink of change hitting glass. “What Sam’s too embarrassed to say is that he screwed up by taking a sweet thing like Ivy to Ray’s. So he’s working on a way to get her to go out with him again without coming across as a—excuse the expression, Del—dumbass.”

  “No charge,” she said. “It fits. Darn, Sam. You don’t invite a nice girl to Ray’s.”