Flea
Two weeks later, I was in the shop workin’ on a Miata (no shit), and tryin’ not to drag Grace into the back room and kiss her senseless. I hadn’t seen her outside of work for over a week, which had been slamd with almost more repairs than we could handle, so we’d had to forgo lunch together as well. Tack on the fact that tonight was church and tomorrow she had a dance class again, I wouldn’t see her until the weekend. The fact I was fuckin’ pissed about that was becomin’ a problem, but nevertheless, I couldn’t stop myself from being pissed about it.
I fuckin’ missed her.
It was irrational.
"Flea?" Grace called, and I leaned around the open hood of the car.
"Yeah?"
"Mr. Miller’s here to pick up his BMW."
"Be right there," I said.
I removed my gloves and washed my hands, then headed through the door to the lobby... where I found Mr. Miller fuckin’ all over Grace.
"You wanna back off my receptionist?" I growled. I almost said ’my woman,’ but stopped myself.
The man had the good sense to step back, but he made the mistake of grinnin’ like an asshole. Grace scowled at , her face pink and her eyes flashing.
I grabbed the clipboard off the counter and signed my na, then quickly went over everything I did to the douchebag’s car while Grace retrieved his keys.
"Do you have any questions?" I asked.
"I’m good."
I set the invoice in front of him for him to sign, Grace handed him his keys and a copy of the receipt, and I hung around until he walked out the door.
"What the hell was that about?" Grace snapped once the douche was out of earshot.
"What?" I played dumb.
"You know exactly what," she said.
"You have the right to feel safe in your work environnt," I said, improvising. "You shouldn’t get accosted by so asshat with a Bimr."
"Don’t you an ’Beer’?"
"Bimrs’ are the cars, Beers’ are the bikes."
She widened her eyes, her full mouth forming an O, and it took every bit of not to kiss her in the middle of the waiting area. "Really?"
"Yeah, babe, really."
She bit her lip. "You know what I like about you?"
"What?"
"You don’t mansplain things. You just tell the information and move on."
I chuckled. "You know what I like about you?"
She raised an eyebrow. "What?"
"Everything."
She let out a quiet squeak and dropped her eyes to the floor. I grinned and squeezed her arm, heading back to the Miata, leaving her to think about what I’d just said. I knew Grace enough to know that she needed ti, alone, to process.
Especially, when she’s caught off-guard.
Considering the fact I liked to catch her off guard, I had no problem giving her ti to process. Particularly if she was startin’ to feel the sa way I was. This thought brought up short.
Shit!
I wasn’t fallin’ for her. I’d already fallen.
Fuck!
Grace
What the hell was that supposed to an?
I watched Flea walk through the door and into the shop as I pondered this question. After the incident with my dad, Flea had checked in with every night, but timing over the past week had sucked and we hadn’t seen each other. I thought I was the only one who was affected by this fact.
Apparently, I wasn’t.
This was interesting. It was also unbelievably frightening. Ohmigod, this beautiful man liked everything about . What was I supposed to do with that information? I’d never been here before. I wasn’t really into dating, and although I’d had so guy friends throughout my short life, I never let them get close (for obvious reasons). But Flea had broken down a hell of a lot of my defenses and I was terrified I was going to lose him. I an, not that I had him, but I wanted to have him.
Shit.
I wanted him.
No, no, no, no. I can’t have him.
I bit my lip.
Why can’t I have him?
Oh, yeah, because I’m probably schizophrenic. Or bipolar.
I wondered if my child-bearing hips were on his radar. Probably. Because he was older than and undoubtedly wanted kids. If we did get together and it was sothing lasting, we couldn’t have children. I wasn’t putting a child through what my mother put through. ntal illness was hereditary.
I shook my head.
No way in hell.
I had to shut this down. I had to focus on my dancing. I accepted the position with PBC, even though it wasn’t exactly what I wanted, which ant my free ti would be shrinking, so that would help.
"Gracie?"
I jumped and spun to see Hatch’s head peeking through the door.
"You okay?"
I nodded. "Yep. Why?"
"Called your na three tis."
"Oh, sorry. I was distracted."
"Apparently." He grinned. "I sent you an email with an updated parts list. Can you get those ordered today?"
"Yes. Of course. I’ll do that now."
"Thanks."
He stepped back into the shop and the door closed behind him. Since we had no custors at the mont, I pulled my stool up to the computer and began to enter the parts order. We used a fancy schmancy ordering system that went straight to wherever the little elves were that made bolts and nuts and carburetors, and it was pretty easy to navigate. But really all I knew was I put the order in and three days later, boxes would show up for and Flea to add to the inventory.
I couldn’t believe I was looking forward to those boxes arriving, so I could be alone with Flea in our parts office.
I shook my head. This was getting ridiculous.
"Grace!" Flea called, and I jumped... again.
"What is with y’all sneaking up on ," I complained, spinning to face him.
He grinned. "Lunch. Let’s go."
"I’m not done with the order."
"You can finish after lunch."
I rolled my eyes. "Flea..."
He stepped to the desk. "We’re goin’ to lunch, baby. Co on."
I saved my spot, locked the computer, and slid off the stool. I didn’t bother to grab my purse, since he’d argue and insist on paying wherever we went anyway.
He held the door for and I stepped through, flanking him as we headed next door to the Chinese restaurant. Once we took our seats, I settled my elbow on the table and my head in my palm, staring down at the nu while I continued to try and process his earlier statent.
"Why are you lookin’ at the nu?" Flea asked.
I raised my eyes to et his. "Ummm... it’s generally used to figure out what the restaurant offers and what you’d like to eat," I sassed.
He chuckled. "Oh, so you’re going to deviate from beef broccoli and chicken lo in?"
"I might," I retorted, and turned my gaze back to the nu.
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