by Elle Aycart
“Back off,” she warned. “And stop trying to intimidate me. It isn’t working.” Which it totally was, because she was alone and he had a hundred pounds on her. She’d read somewhere that teenagers made piss-poor decisions because their brains weren’t fully formed. XL didn’t seem to be an exception.
He not only ignored her but placed his hands on the wall on either side of her head. “Let me tell you how things are going to work from now on, Grease Barbie. You tell the judge we came to all the classes and we behaved ‘in an exemplary fashion.’ In exchange, I’ll spare you.” He moved to grab her chin. “Or maybe I could show you who’s in charge.”
Jesus fucking Christ. God save her from stupid teenagers.
Chapter Three
Adrian had finished his evening shift. After buying some groceries from the supermarket, he remembered today was day one of the mechanics lessons for Ash, Monti, and XL, so he decided to stop by the garage to see how it was going.
He turned the corner in time to see Ash and Monti walking toward their car.
“Shouldn’t we have stayed to wait for XL?” Monti asked.
Ash looked back toward the garage. “I don’t know, man. I’m not sure we should get involved.”
They both stood still, not getting into the car, yet not leaving. Unsure of what to do.
Fuck, shit, crap. He shouldn’t have left Rachel alone with those thugs. Were they stupid enough to do something crazy when they were on probation?
He dropped the bag of groceries and sprinted into the garage. There were sounds of a struggle coming from the far end. Adrenaline madly rushing over him, he lunged forward—only to come to a dead stop.
Rachel had XL’s face shoved against the ground, his arm wrenched behind his back, and her knee pressed against it, keeping him in place. Her voice was deceptively soft and sweet as she talked against his ear.
“Let’s get one thing clear, punk. The judge and that stupid sheriff of ours want to rehabilitate you and your buddies. That’s why they got you this opportunity. I’m not like them, though. I don’t give a flying shit whether you get your act together or rot in jail. I might be teaching you car repair, but I’m no teacher. I won’t treat you with kid gloves. As far as I’m concerned, you’re old enough to be held responsible for your actions, never mind how moronic they are. You’re a tough thug? Fine, I’ll treat you like one. Touch me again, I dare you. I’ll have no problem ripping your balls off and feeding them to you the next time you’re out of line. Are we fucking clear?” He didn’t answer, so she pressed his face to the ground harder. “I said, are we clear?”
“Yes, we’re clear,” he managed to get out.
“What’s going on?” Adrian demanded. “What did you do, XL?”
“Me?” he complained. “Don’t you see me on the floor, man? Grease Barbie is the one who attacked me.”
Right, like Adrian didn’t know the guy and his problems with authority figures. “I told you this was a one-strike deal, XL. You’re out.”
“No need,” Rachel interrupted, moving off the teen. “We were just getting to know each other, right, pal?” Rachel patted the dust off the kid’s chest and straightened his shirt. By the looks of his bleeding lip, he’d gotten punched before he found himself on the ground.
XL was two heads taller than she was, for Christ’s sake. How she had managed to reach his face to sock him was a mystery to Adrian.
The chokehold she’d used on XL wasn’t part of any self-defense course, and it wasn’t one she’d learned in Mike’s class either. He could attest to that. She’d tried all of them with him yesterday; he had the bruises to prove it.
Rachel picked up a knife from the ground and handed it to XL. “You dropped this when you tripped and fell. You should be more careful.”
Motherfucker. Had XL pointed a weapon at her? The kid was a seasoned street thug, but he’d never attacked anyone with a knife. So far.
Adrian was about to rip him a new one, but Rachel, with a smile on her face, continued, “Anyhow, we’re done with the introductions for today. Sheriff, you can take him home, can’t you? His buddies must have left by now.”
And she pushed both of them out of her garage.
Ash and Monti had left, probably after seeing Adrian run into the garage, and the parking lot was deserted.
“A knife?” Adrian growled, grabbing XL by the collar.
“Fuck, man. I didn’t use it. I swear. When she flattened my ass, she searched my pockets, found it, and threw it out of my reach.”
Clever girl, making sure her opponent couldn’t surprise her with a hidden weapon. Mike had a prodigy on his hands, and he didn’t even know it.
“You saw it, she was attacking me,” the kid whined. “Look at my face! I’m going to sue her. A teacher can’t do that.”
Welcome to the real world. And she’d made it very clear: a teacher she wasn’t.
“I saw nothing,” Adrian interjected, picking up the groceries that had scattered all over the lot. “You want to sue her? Be my guest, XL, but if I were you, I’d think twice before standing in front of a judge and saying that a barely five foot two Grease Barbie, as you called her, knocked my sorry ass out. You’ll never live that one down.”
Still dressed in her coveralls, Rachel sat on the porch swing and took a swig from her beer. They’d been busy at the garage, but miracles of all miracles, they’d finished early. And today, she didn’t have to deal with the thugs.
The house had been empty when she arrived. Her grandma was out, doing her own stuff, or worse—she grimaced—doing OG stuff. She glanced at her phone. No messages, no missed calls. So far so good. She might as well enjoy the afternoon and the reprieve. God only knew when she was going to have another one. And she didn’t have to go to Boston in the evening either, which was rare for her, because between classes, meetings, mandatory seminars, and trying to complete her internship, she was always swamped. Having so many extracurricular activities was kicking her ass. Which reminded her, this was as good a moment as any to catch up.
She fetched her notes and swung on the porch—drinking her beer, reading, and enjoying the lake view—until she saw the sheriff’s car coming up the driveway. Dammit to hell, her grandma had been doing OG stuff. She closed her eyes and prayed it was one of the deputies.
Fat chance. She opened them in time to see Adrian walking Wilma to the porch. Weirdly enough, he wasn’t scowling. Thank the Lord for small favors.
Rachel gathered the papers in a hurry and stuffed them into a file. “Grandma, what is it this time?” What she really meant was “What did you do this time?” but Rachel wasn’t going to admit that in front of the sheriff, just in case her grandma really had done something crazy and Rachel had to defend her—which she’d do tooth and nail, regardless of Wilma’s culpability.
“All is fine.” Wilma patted Rachel’s hand. “Don’t worry. The sheriff was nice enough to give me a ride.” She turned to Adrian. “Please sit. I’ll bring something to drink.”
As soon as Wilma walked into the house, Adrian spoke. “I found her at the park. She was disoriented, couldn’t remember her way back home.”
“Rachel!” her grandma called from inside the house. “Come help me.”
Once in the kitchen, Rachel studied her. “You’ve been to that park hundreds of thousands of times. Did you really not know your way back?”
Wilma smiled without a smidge of regret. “Not exactly, no. I was tired and didn’t want to walk back.”
“Grandma!” Rachel yelled, appalled.
“What? It isn’t my fault people assume the worst when they see a tired old lady.”
“Sure. And you didn’t help them on that? How did the sheriff get there?” she asked in a whisper.
Wilma shrugged and gave her two beers, one of them alcohol-free. “He was the one doing the assuming. Be a nice hostess and take that to Adrian.”
Hostess? What? Rachel must not have reacted fast enough, because her grandma pushed her from behind until they made it to t
he porch.
Adrian tried to refuse when he saw the beers. “Thank you, but I’m on duty. I really can’t—”
“Nonsense, Sheriff. It’s alcohol-free. Sit,” Wilma ordered, all but forcing him down on the porch swing. “It’s the least I can do for my savior.”
Rachel rolled her eyes. Savior, her ass.
“Well, thank you,” Adrian said, looking a bit uncomfortable, as if he only knew his role while being mad at Wilma, not while being pampered by her.
“My pleasure. You guys sit and drink in peace. I’m going to rest. I still feel a bit off,” Wilma shamelessly lied before disappearing inside the house. It looked like her grandma was scheming for Rachel to get on the sheriff’s good side. Bad omen. She shuddered to think what the OGs had planned next.
Suddenly exhausted, she sagged on the swing. Whatever. She’d deal with the mess when it came.
Her grandma had forgotten the bottle opener, so Rachel used the armrest of the swing to get the cap off and handed the beer to Adrian. Then she opened the second one with her teeth and took a big swig. He was probably looking at her, horrified, but she didn’t care.
“Bossy, your grandmother.”
No shit. “Thanks for bringing Wilma home.”
“No need to thank me. It’s my job.” She doubted that very much but said nothing and smiled. Adrian looked at the lake. “Beautiful view.”
Rachel nodded. Wilma’s Victorian house was on an old part of town’s lakefront. It was like going back in time.
They sat there in silence for a while. It felt so weird to be together without yelling or apologizing. Unnerving.
Rachel cleared her throat. “I saw the picture. The stop sign suits you.”
He chuckled, his blue eyes crinkling. “Ha-ha. You knew, right?”
“You shouldn’t have arrested us.”
“Maybe it wasn’t one of my finest moves,” he acknowledged. “Sorry for saddling you with the street thugs.”
“Nah, it’s okay. They’re nothing I can’t handle.”
“I saw that. Where did you learn to fight?” he asked, sounding intrigued.
“After my parents divorced, my mom and I moved around a lot, but we always ended up in rather unsavory places. Learning to fight was a necessity.” She was a petite blond, an easy target. “Believe me, XL is small potatoes compared to the criminals I grew up with.”
Adrian took a swig of his beer. “Why do you take Mike’s classes? You don’t need them.”
“It’s a way of socializing.” Being stuck in a garage day in and day out didn’t offer many chances to make friends.
He studied her so intensely it made her a bit uncomfortable. She had had very few opportunities to observe the sheriff from up close without him yelling at her. He was handsome in a rugged sort of way, his tanned skin and dark hair contrasting with the light blue of his eyes. He had a scar above his left eye, across his eyebrow, and his nose had been broken and reset several times by the looks of it. She’d heard he’d been a detective in Boston. In South Boston. She knew the neighborhood well.
“He’s a good kid, XL,” he said.
“Sure. A choirboy,” she replied before she could engage her bullshit filter.
Adrian smiled, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “He’s just playing at being tough. I really hope we can get through to him. To the three of them. Soon they’ll be eighteen, and things will get much worse for them if they get arrested. Especially XL.”
Ash and Monti were going to be a piece of cake. XL, not so much. “How did you meet them?”
“I’ve been busting them on and off for years, since I was with the Boston police. They come from shitty backgrounds, especially XL. You know why his name is XL?”
She let out a dry laugh. “He implied it refers to the size of his dick.”
“Right,” Adrian scoffed. “Of course he would. They found him when he was a baby in the plus-size section of a clothing store, in a pile of XL shirts. He’s been very unlucky with foster parents. Many times.”
“He doesn’t seem to be an angel either.”
“That too.” Adrian’s face was dark now. Angry and sad and burdened. “I’m not sure why he made such an impression on me, but he did. We share the same birthday, so maybe that was it.”
“Or maybe you see yourself in him. Did you have a problem with authority figures while growing up too, Sheriff?”
The corner of his mouth lifted up, but he didn’t answer. It looked like the sheriff wasn’t big on talking about himself.
“For what it’s worth, he’s very talented with cars,” she added. “And fucking ingenious. Grease Barbie? I’ve been called many things but never something so original. You have to give him that.”
Adrian chuckled, his face brightening. “I thought you wouldn’t appreciate it.”
She smiled, pleased she could make him relax. “Are you kidding? I’m considering getting my coveralls printed with that on the back. Or changing the name of the garage to Grease Barbie and painting the walls pink. You know: Life in plastic is fantastic,” she sang.
He chuckled some more, looking unburdened. “From now on I’ll attend your classes, just in case.”
“Are you afraid for my safety?” Because he didn’t have to be.
He scoffed. “Please. I’m afraid for the kids’ safety, Grease Barbie.”
Coming from him, that nickname sounded weirdly nice. She shook her head and hurried to leave the half-finished bottle of beer on the floor. Time to stop drinking. She’d started hallucinating and thinking moronities.
“Seriously, thank you for not calling the judge and turning him in,” he continued, his voice soft. His gaze too.
It was the first time he’d ever said thanks to her or smiled at her. He didn’t seem like such an ass after all. Crap. More moronic thoughts.
She cleared her throat. “We’ll be fine.” Guys like XL only respected strength. There would be no more incidents; she was sure of it.
Her cell beeped, and she checked the screen. “Fuck,” she muttered. It was a message from the dating app—from a prospect, as she called them.
“Everything all right?” His sheriff voice was back.
And there it went again, her mouth blurting before she could stop it. “The OGs signed me up to what they thought was a super-duper dating service. Their number-one pastime is to play matchmakers. Well, second only to concocting trouble. They claim they’re responsible for Mike and Kyra getting together, so I’m next.” She couldn’t wait for Connor to come back.
Another beep. The prospect. “Anyhow, the dating service came with an app that notifies me of messages from… candidates?” That sounded better.
He seemed amused. “And how is it going? Any luck?”
She snorted and grabbed the beer from the floor. She was going to need more booze if they were going to talk about her dating life. “You wouldn’t believe the number of dick pics I get on a daily basis.”
Adrian spat out the beer he had in his mouth. “What?”
“The OGs thought this dating service was respectable, but it’s not much more than a hookup app for divorcees and desperate horny guys.”
“Didn’t you tell Wilma?”
“Of course. I even showed her one of the dick pics.”
He looked halfway between horrified and fascinated. “And?”
“She showed it to Rebecca and Greta. The three of them shook their heads and sent a message to the guy that read, ‘You poor, poor man. Chin up. There’s no shame in having a micropenis.’”
Adrian was shaking with laughter.
“You wouldn’t believe the weirdos I’ve met.” They got blindsided by the long blond hair and a decent enough face—until they had her up close and realized her nails were perpetually black with grease, and no perfume in the world could cover the smell of gasoline. Her hands were rougher than those of a truck driver, and her body wasn’t what anyone would consider feminine, with her rather small boobs, her lack of sexy curves, and the extra fifteen pounds. She
wasn’t a dainty princess, and she never would be. “Last time the guy was a condescending prick who spent all of supper talking about himself. I was trying to be polite and not walk out on him. Then the asshole went to the bathroom after we ordered dessert, and I’m still waiting for him to return.” Adrian chuckled, shaking his head. “Of course, I had to pay the bill. Can you believe it? No way am I meeting anyone else for dinner. Too risky and too time-consuming. Drinks are more than enough, thank you very much.” And the jerk had had the gall to leave a rating in the dating app, saying, The package was conducive to misunderstandings, and, at close inspection, left much to be desired.
“Why did you agree to go on the dates?” Adrian asked, his brow cocked.
“It’s better than having the OGs trying to hook me up with God knows who on a daily basis. I go on dates here and there to keep Wilma and her goons happy. Everyone wins.” The OGs wanted her to be more proactive, but tough shit.
Suddenly, the sheriff’s shirt began to talk. It was the radio.
“Excuse me,” he apologized and, moving away, answered the call from the dispatcher. She’d never noticed the guy’s nice, firm ass before. Or the broad shoulders. Shit. Was she ogling him? She put the beer on the floor again. After a “yes” and an “on my way,” he disconnected. “Sorry, duty calls.”
“Unless she jumped through the window, Wilma is at home. Is it Greta or Rebecca, or can I rest in peace for the day?”
He smiled and handed her his beer. “No OG business this time. You’re off duty.”
Thank God. Because she was obviously too drunk to think straight.
He walked down the porch stairs and turned around. “See you at the next OG mayhem?”
She nodded. “I’ll try not to yell.”
He tipped his hat at her, a smirk on his face. “And I’ll try not to arrest you.”
Adrian stopped by the diner after his shift ended, ordered six iced Americanos and a dozen doughnuts to go, and hurried to the garage. He was late due to a last-minute callout, and the boys had been with Rachel for almost two hours. The sheriff’s department hadn’t had any emergency calls, though, so he hoped all was well.
