by Elle Aycart
When he arrived at the garage, he found the three punks working on a car, while Rachel sat on a table nearby. No blood anywhere. Good sign.
He lifted the cardboard holder with the coffees. “I bring reinforcements.”
Only Rachel acknowledged him. “We do have coffee.”
“Not iced Americanos, and definitely not these,” he added, showing her the doughnut box.
That tipped the scales; she jumped from the table with a bright smile. “Sugar shot.”
The kids must have been really immersed in whatever they were doing, because they didn’t even notice his presence. “What’s with them? You didn’t cut out their tongues, did you?”
She laughed, grabbing a doughnut. She was wearing a white wifebeater and black coveralls that had been pulled off her upper body, the sleeves knotted around her waist. Her blond hair was tied on the back of her head rather haphazardly, if all the loose strands around her face were anything to go by. “I asked them to strip this car bare and then put it back together again.”
“And?”
“They stripped it in less than half an hour. Then they put it back together, but they keep getting it wrong, because the car doesn’t work.”
“The ignition system seems to be fine,” XL said. “Maybe it’s electrical?”
“I think we checked that already,” Ash replied, never lifting his head from the hood of the car.
Monti didn’t even answer. He was under the car, muttering something unintelligible.
“They’ve been going at it for a while now,” Rachel whispered to Adrian. “After they finished putting the car back together, they had several parts left and not a clue where they belonged. Needless to say, when they tried to turn it on, not even the lights worked.” She took a bite of doughnut, her lips all dusted in white, and continued. “At the moment the car still isn’t working, but at least we managed to get all the parts in the correct places.”
He’d never seen those street thugs so focused on something that wasn’t illegal. He approached them. “How’s it going, guys? Brought you doughnuts and iced coffee.”
Finally he got their attention. They nodded at him, went to the table, gulped down half their coffees in one go and, doughnuts in hand, walked back to the car.
“Tip, guys,” Rachel said after glancing at the open hood. “Check the starter and the connecting cables. And the fuses. With so much trying, you might have blown something and not even realized it. And the fuel pump and the injection system. Make sure the wires are connected. After this, if the car doesn’t start, check for error codes on the diagnostic panel.”
“You heard Grease Barbie. Let’s get to it,” XL prompted. Ash and Monti nodded. They stuffed the rest of their doughnuts in their mouths and went back to work.
Adrian couldn’t believe his eyes. “I’m so fucking impressed. What did you do?”
She shrugged. “Nothing. I provided a challenge and threw it at them. Learning to change out car parts is one thing. Knowing what makes an engine tick is another altogether.”
Adrian’s knowledge of mechanics was very limited. “If you say so.”
She frowned, looking at the car, and lifted one finger at him. Two. Three. Then there was a big thump as something fell from under the car.
“And there went your exhaust pipe, gentlemen,” she concluded, as if she’d seen it coming. “If you don’t get those pesky little things secured in place, it doesn’t matter if the engine runs or not, because you’ll be screwed.”
Monti let out a curse and dove under the car.
“When they stripped cars, they didn’t have to worry about shit like that. They’re great at unscrewing, not so great at the opposite,” she whispered roguishly and grabbed another doughnut.
They watched as the guys worked. Well, he watched. Rachel came and went, telling them stuff Adrian had no clue about. Her lips were now glazed with sugar, and she kept licking them to get them clean. The more she did that, the redder and puffier they got. And why the fuck he was noticing that, he didn’t know. But he did notice, and his cock did too.
“This week was a calm one,” she said after she jumped back on the table by his side. “You can’t complain, at least not concerning the OGs. I haven’t been summoned to the sheriff’s department nor have I been yelled at because of them.”
She was right, for the most part. “Have I told you someone brought curtains for the holding cells? To ‘lift the spirits of the unjustly imprisoned. Even the justly imprisoned need a little of joy in their lives.’ And I’m quoting.”
Rachel broke into laughter. “So that was what those curtains were for.”
“Yes. Apparently they took measurements while they were in the cell. With one of their bathrobe belts, I heard. My deputies should have taken those away, but they didn’t want to inconvenience the OGs.” Kudos to them—the curtains fit like a glove. They’d even brought pillows for the bench. “Your grandma and her friends may be old, but they can keep numbers in their heads like pros.”
She lifted her hands, her big brown eyes sparkling in amusement. “I swear to God, I had no clue about this. I helped them pick the fabric, but I thought it was for a theater play or one of the clubs they’re involved with. They were looking for something festive.”
That would explain the balloons and the ribbons on red cloth.
“We have one very festive cell now, I assure you.” Thank God they had stopped at that one and hadn’t touched the other. “Because of them, when we put suspects in jail, they laugh their asses off.” Those OGs had such luck. That or they were spying on him, seeing as they had managed to do all that while he wasn’t in the office. Clearly his deputies were softies. “Holly thinks it’s a good idea. She calls it the happy-hour cell.”
Rachel was giggling, her body shaking, the knot of hair on the back of her head threatening to unravel at any second. “I may have a tiny bitty piece of bad news,” she said after her laughter had quieted down.
“Hit me.” He was high on sugar; he could take it.
“The OGs might have heard about what a bucket list is, and they might start going through theirs.”
That was the mother of all bad news, not “tiny bitty” at all. “Who the fuck gave them that glorious idea?”
“Mike.” She grimaced, tucking the loose strands of hair behind her ears. “It wasn’t intentional, though. I might have also mentioned it. But we were reprimanding them, not encouraging them,” she hurried to explain.
“So we’re basically both in shit,” he muttered. “And Mike too.” Who was in charge of putting out fires.
“Basically.”
“We should join forces. Truce?” he asked, offering her his hand.
She cocked her head and studied him, as if not sure whether to believe him. “Truce, but if shit hits the fan, I will be on their side.”
They just had to hope shit didn’t hit the fan, then.
“Yesss!” they heard someone yelling. The guys had their hands up and were all smiles. The engine had turned over.
Rachel clapped. “Bravo, gentlemen. Now let’s see if we can get it running.”
She jumped off the table, approached, and gave some instructions to the boys, who nodded and got right to it. Ash, head under the hood, hollered at her. He had a wrench and was fiddling with some tube. The coolant hose? Adrian wasn’t sure. Rachel was leaning in by Ash’s side, pointing at the motor, when suddenly some liquid sprayed on them. They both moved out of the way as fast as they could, sputtering.
“Plug the hose back in,” she ordered, averting her head. Ash managed to stop the leak, but not before getting nicely doused. “You didn’t swallow, right? Your eyes okay?” she asked, going to the paper towel dispenser and bringing enough for the both of them. Ash was shaking his head. “Good. This shit is toxic.”
She walked to the table and sat beside Adrian, drying her face. Yep, coolant. “This stench is going to stick around for a long time. No way to disguise it.”
Her hair had gotten wet; her wif
ebeater too. And she was smiling from ear to ear.
Her cell beeped. She snorted as she read the message. “And I have a date in two days. Yippee.”
Adrian looked at her from the corner of his eye. Her face, neck, and arms had smudges of grease; her nails were black underneath; and her hands were full of cuts and scratches, probably from working with engines and heavy tools. She smelled strongly of gasoline. Oh, and she might have been painting some cars, because she had splotches of metallic blue on her face and hands. The coolant shower was just one of many issues.
And yet she looked strangely compelling. Cute, in her own unkempt, goofy sort of way. The lips might have had something to do with all that too.
Shaking those thoughts away, he concentrated on her words. Had she said in two days? “Is your date in Boston?”
“Yes. Why?”
“I have to drive up in two days after my shift ends in the afternoon. When are you meeting this guy?”
She looked at her cell. “At seven.”
He leaned into her. “Did he send you a dick pic beforehand?”
She laughed. “I don’t go on dates with those guys.” Then she winked. “Never mind how favorable the pic is. Some of them are very impressive.”
“Photoshop,” he replied with a scoff.
“The OGs said that too.”
He closed his eyes, amused, unable to believe they were talking about photoshopping dicks. Or showing them to octogenarians to get a second opinion. “Anyway, I can drive you,” he offered, not really sure why. Carpooling was important for the planet, sure, but still.
She pondered for a second. “I think I’ll take you up on your offer. If I don’t drive, I’ll be able to drink. Dealing with these dates sober is damn hard.” She looked at the kids, then at the clock on the wall. “Guys, we have ten minutes before the pizzas I ordered get here. How are we doing?”
Apparently, they were doing rather well, because after some instructions, the punks got the car to start. They were filthy and sweaty and happier than Adrian had ever seen them. Rachel congratulated them with high fives, going on tiptoes to reach their hands.
Jade would never have touched those kids, not even with a ten-foot pole. Getting sprayed with coolant because of them, her hair and clothes and makeup ruined? No fucking way. She would have thrown a hissy fit and sued them for compensation, at the very least.
“Get yourselves clean,” Rachel ordered, pointing at the locker room. “We’ll be in the office.”
While the kids did as she told them, she walked to the sink and washed her hands and forearms, scrubbing vigorously with some industrial-looking hand cleaner, then with turpentine for the paint. “This job is murder on the skin,” she explained jokingly as she stripped down to sweatpants and a wifebeater and threw the coveralls into a bin with other clothes.
“How did you get into car repair?” It seemed like an odd option for a petite blond like her.
“My dad. I didn’t get to see him much after the divorce, but he’s the one responsible for the current state of my hands,” she said with a smile.
“Where’s your dad now?”
“He died when I was a teenager.”
“Sorry.”
Her smile was still sweet as she waved in dismissal. “Don’t sweat it. It was a long time ago. Anyhow, I realized I was kickass with cars, so I decided to make a living off my passion. I’m in my Zen zone when I’m working with engines, despite the drawbacks.”
At that moment, the pizza guy came with the food and a couple of big bottles of soda. She ran to the office and came back with her wallet, but by then, Adrian had taken care of the bill. “It was my treat,” she complained as they walked into the office with the bounty.
“Community service doesn’t include paying for supper, Grease Barbie.”
“True. Still. Next time is on me.”
“Sure.”
He’d never been inside her office, but he was stunned when she left the pizzas in a room full of busty centerfolds. He glanced around.
“This is the break room for the guys. My office is there at the end, the one with the Hello Kitty stuff.”
Right. Neither of those decors suited her in the least.
The boys loved the break room, though. As soon as they came in, they whistled at the posters on the walls.
“We should have the theory classes here,” Monti suggested.
“There are no theory classes,” she said, opening the pizza boxes. “Dig in. The sheriff’s treat.”
They seemed disappointed about the lack of theory classes for just a second. Until they sat around the table and began eating and talking about the car they’d gotten started and the mishaps they’d had on the way. Rachel was one of them, laughing and commenting too.
“You got any beers?” XL asked, looking around.
“Ha. Think again, buddy,” she admonished him, pouring some soda.
He grudgingly drank it.
It looked like Rachel had the punks wrapped around her pinkie and his presence wasn’t really needed. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Conflicted, maybe?
“How do you know each other?” Ash asked, motioning to Rachel and Adrian.
“He arrested me,” she answered with a shrug.
“Like us then,” XL said.
She looked at him, then at Adrian. “Not exactly, no. He likes you guys. He hates me.”
The three boys turned to him, their gazes surprised. “You hate Grease Barbie?” Monti’s voice sounded offended and protective.
“Of course I don’t,” Adrian replied. If anything, he was jealous of the relationship she had with her grandma. She always had Wilma’s back, and Wilma always had hers. No one in Adrian’s family had ever had his back.
“Did he arrest you for stealing car parts or for selling them?” Ash asked her.
Rachel laughed. “Neither. He arrested me for taking good care of my grandmother.”
The boys looked at each other, stupefied. “That’s a new one,” XL mumbled.
Chapter Four
“This is blackmail,” Rachel repeated for the umpteenth time. “You know that, right?”
Wilma continued brushing her granddaughter’s hair. “Please. Who would believe this innocent-looking grannie could do something so horrible?”
Ha. Anyone who knew the OGs.
“Forcing me to go on dates in exchange for checking things off of your bucket list is blackmail.” The grandmas had agreed she wasn’t going out on dates often enough and needed an incentive. As incentives went, blackmail was a rather original one. Unfair, but original. And damn effective.
“No, it isn’t blackmail; it’s called doing the public a service,” Wilma replied.
That might be true, taking into consideration the alternative. Why had these grannies decided to go through their bucket list? Now they had Rachel by the proverbial balls.
“What service are you doing for the public?” Rebecca asked, peeking through the front doorway with Greta by her side.
They hadn’t bothered to knock; they just barged in. Greta was carrying a huge pile of clothes and Rebecca a makeup bag.
Rachel answered, resigned, “Making sure you drop things from your bucket list.”
“Our what list?” Greta asked.
“Our LOLO list,” Wilma explained. Rachel had told them a million times that what they meant was YOLO, but she’d given up. Even the sheriff knew by now what LOLO meant. Mayhem, for the most part.
“Right. Then yes. A huge service to the public,” Greta conceded, leaving the clothes and accessories on the couch. “What did you trade this time?”
“The tattoos,” Wilma confessed.
Rebecca opened up the makeup case. “No big loss, girls. I wasn’t too convinced about that one. I don’t think any of us have a patch of skin firm enough for that.”
Wilma and Greta nodded. Damn, Rachel should have traded the upcoming date for something else. Too bad Wilma was being sneaky and not telling her what was on that damn list.
/> “How come you got here so late?” Wilma reprimanded them. “Getting Rachel ready is too big a project for one person alone.”
“Grandma!” Rachel complained, but no one paid any attention to her.
“Mike took us to the hospital for the follow-up on my knee replacement,” Rebecca told Wilma. “We just made it back.”
“Something wrong with the knee?” Wilma asked, frowning.
“No, it’s all good, but there’d been a big traffic accident and they were asking for blood. Mike donated some of his.”
Wilma finished Rachel’s updo. “What about you? Did you donate blood?”
“Mine is bad,” Rebecca said.
“And I don’t have any,” Greta finished.
If Rachel hadn’t been in dire straits, she would have laughed her head off. Her grandma didn’t see anything strange in her girls’ answers, because she nodded in commiseration.
“Can I get rid of these?” Rachel asked, lifting her hands, which a couple of hours ago had been daubed heavily with skin moisturizer and put in plastic bags that were held by rubber bands on her wrists.
The OGs approached to inspect her hands. Wilma scrunched her nose after they took off the bags and removed the excess moisturizer with a towel. “Dear, you should have had these on the whole night. Your skin is still rough and the beds of your nails are black.” And rough and black they would remain. She’d tried just about everything on the market to get her hands into better shape, without much success. Now she didn’t even care.
“Working a full-time job while studying and doing the internship, even if it’s only a few hours a week, is a lot of work,” Greta added. “It doesn’t leave much time for anything else, especially self-care.”
“Yeah, it’s very hard.” Rachel played the pity card. “Let me skip out on the prospect, just this once.”
The three grannies shook their heads. “There should always be time for love,” Wilma replied.
Of course they would think that.
