Freefall

  “Huh? You need food, Bro. You’re not making sense.” Clutch got to the window and ordered his usual truckload of food.

  “Hey, leave some for the rest of us,” Dray called from behind. He was six people back with dark sunglasses to cover his black eye.

  I placed my order, and we stood by the pick-up window.

  “Hey, Clutch, I just had an offer of fifteen on the Chevelle,” Cooper, a regular, and Clutch’s biggest competition said as he headed to the window for his order.

  “For that piece of shit? My grandmother could outpace that thing on her bicycle,” Clutch said. The guy responded with his finger. “So, what’s with this client, and why will I be an asshole about it? Not that I’m not always an asshole.”

  “The tattoo is for his girlfriend,” I said.

  Clutch stared down at me. “Okay, so far I’m glazing over with boredom. Is there more?”

  “Let’s just say I keep his girlfriend’s picture in my wallet.”

  “Why would you do that?” Sometimes bigger did mean dumber. They called his number, and he stepped up to the window and then spun around with wide eyes. “Do you mean the picture?”

  “Yeah, the picture.”

  He swept up his load of food. “Christ, Nix, why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Cause of the whole asshole thing.” I walked up to the window and picked up my burger and shake, and we found a table.

  “What the hell are the odds on her walking into the shop?” Clutch wasted no time shoving a burger in his face. “So, this guy is rich, huh? Hope he shows. I’m running out of prospects on that car. Everyone is so flippin’ cheap these days.” The third bite demolished the first burger. Clutch was definitely a chew-talker, and he didn’t let a mouthful of food stop him from continuing. “What’s she like?”

  I didn’t answer. Scotlyn wasn’t the type of girl you could describe with words.

  Dray sat down with his usual subtlety of a raging bull. “I told them I wanted actual beef in my burger this time, and the lady in the window snarled at me.”

  “You do realize they are the ones handling your food, right?” I asked.

  Dray stared down at his box. “Shit, now I don’t know if I want it.” Then he picked up the burger. “What the hell, I’m hungry.” He had the chew-talk thing down to an art too. “I didn’t see you before I left this morning. How’d the tattooing go?”

  “So you told him before you told me?” Clutch asked.

  Dray pushed his glasses onto his head. His face looked as if it had been bounced off a wall a few times. “Dude, you may be the size of a Viking and have the strength of fucking grizzly bear, but sometimes you sound just like a chick.”

  Cassie threw her leg over the bench and sat down next to Dray. “I take offense to that. I don’t know any chicks who talk with ketchup smeared on their chin and chunks of beef jammed in their teeth.”

  Dray looked up at her. “Really? I know some.”

  “That’s because you hang out with cavewomen. And it looks like one of them took a club to your face. You look awful.”

  “Thanks. I’m a fighter, so I consider that a compliment.”

  “I didn’t know you were coming tonight,” I said to Cassie.

  She shrugged. “I’m meeting someone here.”

  Dray’s face shot toward her. “Do you mean that asshat doesn’t have the decency to pick you up at your place? How come you always have to meet him somewhere?”

  “None of your business,” Cassie said.

  Dray normally had little interest in anything that didn’t have to do with fighting or getting laid, but he was sure as hell taking a big interest in Cassie’s dating life.

  “Yeah, you’re right. Don’t care anyhow.” He refocused on his food.

  Cassie stood abruptly. “I don’t know why I bothered to stop at this table.” She turned and walked away.

  “Ah, come on, Cass,” I called to her, “you know he’s an idiot.”

  She waved me off and disappeared into the sea of shiny chrome and tattoo sleeves.

  I looked at Dray. “You’re an idiot.”

  “Yeah, it suits me.”

  “It’s true,” Clutch said still chewing like a cow. “It does suit him.”

  Dray took the lid off his cup and chugged back the rest of his drink and then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I invited Kelly and Bridget back to the Lucy tonight.”

  “Why did you do that?” I asked.

  “Man, you’re as boring as shit these days. Don’t you long for our party, party, party days? What did we call them— our party to the third power days?”

  Clutch laughed. “Well, what do you know? You do use math in everyday life.”

  “Waking up shitfaced in some girl’s bed and then spending the rest of the night puking,” I said. “Good times.”

  I’d lost Dray’s attention. He was staring over my shoulder at something, and I wondered if Cassie was coming back. “Don’t look around but there is a slice of heaven with silky thighs and a pair of lips that could give a guy a week’s worth of wet dreams walking this direction. I call first try.”

  Whoever she was, she had Clutch’s attention too. They both sat frozen like a pair of gawking, drooling statues. Then Clutch relaxed. “Figures. She’s got some bozo with her.”

  “I can never catch a break.” Dray looked up again. “They’re walking toward us.” And then his mouth dropped further. “Holy shit.” He looked at me, and I knew who he was gawking at.

  “Holy shit to the third power,” Dray said.

  “She is something,” Clutch said. “I think my sucker radar just went off. He looks made of money.”

  I pulled in a breath and turned around. Everything around her, the people, the cars, her jerk of a boyfriend all blurred and the only thing in focus was Scotlyn. Like in the shop, before she’d walked out, our gazes connected.

  “Holy shit to the tenth power,” Dray muttered behind me.

  I stood and Hammond came right up to me. “Hey, Nix.”

  “Hey,” I turned to Clutch. “This is my friend, Clutch. He’s the one with the muscle cars. Clutch, this is Lincoln Hammond.” Hammond stared up at Clutch as he stood to full height. “How are you doing?” Clutch said, and went straight into salesman mode. “I’ve got a real beauty of a Firebird here tonight, but if she’s not to your liking, I’ve got others.” He started leading Hammond away. As expected, Hammond looked back at Scotlyn to let her know she should follow.

  She shook her head and pointed toward the food window. He looked pissed. “Fine. Meet us over there after you get your ice cream.”

  I watched her walk to the order window. Dray tossed his trash in the can, walked over to me, and snapped his fingers in front of my face. “Earth to Nix.”

  “What?” I asked angrily.

  “Nothing,” he looked back at Scotlyn, “it’s just that the asshole is over there with Clutch, who has a history of being long winded, and you’re standing here alone with the girl of your dreams.” He glanced back at her again. She was picking up her ice cream cone from the window. “And what was your nickname in high school— oh yeah— Heartbreak Kid. Come on Heartbreak, work your magic.” He looked at her once more. “Christ, why don’t they make more like her?” Dray placed a hand on my shoulder. “Catch you later.”

  Scotlyn walked over to me with a vanilla ice cream cone.

  I looked down at her. “You’ve got a major sweet tooth, don’t you?”

  She smiled and nodded. She took a long lick up the side of the cone.

  “How’s the tattoo? Not too sore?”

  She nodded again and then walked away. I felt the weight of major disappointment figuring that she was headed over to Hammond. But then she stopped and her blue eyes sparkled back at me as she motioned with her head for me to follow. Which I did— without hesitation.

  I followed her behind a small storage building. She took another long lick on the ice cream, but the hot evening was making it hard for her to keep up with the drips o
f vanilla. She lifted the cone and used her eyes to ask if I wanted a bite.

  I shook my head. “No, I’m having way too much fun watching you eat it.”

  A wicked grin deepened the dimple on her cheek. Then with deliberate slowness, she pushed the entire scoop of ice cream into her mouth and drew it out slowly with her lips closed tightly around it.

  “Okay, now you’re just being mean.”

  Her smooth shoulders shook with a silent laugh. Then she held up a long finger. She turned to the side and slid her shirt up to where the tattoo started. It was another move I hadn’t expected, and I had to mentally slow down my pulse, which was starting to surge through every muscle. The skin around my artwork was slightly pink.

  “It looks like it’s healing fast.” My fingers could not be stopped. I reached up and lightly touched the skin around the ink, and she released a breathy sigh. I ran my fingers down the entire stretch of the scar, and she moaned faintly when I reached the end of it. Then she let the t-shirt drop, and she stared up at me. She reached into her back pocket to pull out her pad of paper and pen and then she stared at the drippy cone in her hand. She held it up for me to take and flipped open the pad. She was just about to write but looked up and waved a finger at me.

  “I won’t drop it,” I smiled.

  She wrote something quickly and held up the note. “Lincoln wanted me to go to a different tattoo parlor.”

  It felt like someone fisted me in the chest. I would never see her again. “Why?”

  She wrote more. “He doesn’t like you.”

  “The feeling is mutual.” I looked down at her. “So you’re not coming back to my shop?”

  Her pen flew across the paper. The curtain of dark lashes lifted, and she gazed up at me. “I told him it had to be you.”

  I unclenched my jaw. “I’m glad.”

  She took the cone back from me. A huge drip of melted ice cream curled around my finger. She took hold of my wrist, brought my finger to her lips, and licked the ice cream off of it.

  I swallowed hard and smiled down at her. “You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?”

  Her lush bottom lip jutted out, and she shook her head. She finished the last bit of ice cream and tossed the cone to some pigeons. She wrote. “Your father was a race car driver?”

  “Yeah, how did you know?”

  “Google.”

  “I guess that makes sense.”

  She smiled and scratched her pen on the paper. “Not that I’m stalking you. I was just curious.”

  I smiled. “Yeah, it’s not like you have a picture of me in your wallet or anything like that.”

  She found that humorous.

  “My dad died in a race.”

  The dimples faded and she nodded. We’d been having this great, sexy conversation, and I brought it to a screeching halt by bringing up death.

  “Scotlyn.” She peered up at me, and for a second every thought went out of my head and all I could think about was dragging her into my arms. “I’m glad I’m going to be finishing the tattoo.”

  She looked away, and I panicked for a second wondering what I’d said wrong and then her blue gaze focused on me again. She reached up and pressed her palm against the side of my face, and I felt the heat of her touch race through me. Hammond’s distinctive, annoying voice let us know he was nearby. She stiffened at the sound of it.

  “You better walk out first,” I said. “I’ll walk around the back of the restaurant.”

  She slid her paper and pen back into her pocket and pulled out her phone. She handed it to me, and I punched in my cell phone number and handed it back to her. I watched her walk away wondering if it had all been real or if I had been dreaming.

  Scotlyn made a point of not looking my way as I met up with everyone in front of Rocky’s. But Hammond skewered me with a distrustful glare. Clutch didn’t look happy, which meant no sell. The second I reached them, Hammond took hold of Scotlyn’s hand and left. And, once again, I watched her walk away from me.

  “There’s nothing worse than a rich tightwad,” Clutch muttered.

  “Sorry about that. I thought he’d be freer with his cash.” Scotlyn disappeared into the crowd. “What the hell am I going to do, Clutch? Now that I’ve actually met her and touched her, I can’t stop thinking about her.”

  “I don’t blame you.” He grinned down at me. “But I have to say it is pretty damn funny watching Mr. Heartbreak having his own heart take a beating for once.”

  “I’m glad my emotional and physical pain is a source of entertainment for you.”

  People milled about in the waning light of the warm summer evening with no real purpose except to hang out with friends and eat greasy food. The loud rumble of a big motor preceded a nice looking Nova as it rolled through the crowd.

  “That’s Tucker,” Clutch said, as we watched the car go past, “although I always make a point of calling him Fucker.”

  I shook my head. “You really are an asshole.”

  “Yep, but he did a nice job on that Nova. You should race him in the Firebird.” Having a race car driver for a dad, I’d always just assumed I would follow him in to the business. He had me driving around the track by the time I was twelve. And for awhile, even though he was gone, I thought I would still race. But those dreams faded away eventually, much to Nana’s relief.

  “Hey guys,” Taylor poked her head in between us. She had tied her blouse up to expose her flat, brown stomach, and she had her hair in two braids. Her jeans were cut off so short the bottoms of her pockets stuck out below the fringed hem.

  Clutch stared down at her. “I was just wondering where the annoying pest, Taylor, was tonight.”

  She pushed her face up toward his. “Why, were you waiting to see me?”

  “Right. Don’t flatter yourself, Sweetheart.”

  She pulled her phone out to read a text and then squinted into the crowd. A couple of young, straight out of high school guys, were waving her over. Taylor shrugged and texted something back to them. “So did you sell a car tonight?”

  “No, I didn’t. Selling cars is a little more complicated than that,” Clutch said tersely.

  “Really, cause I heard that Mikey from over at Baron’s shop sold three cars tonight without ever leaving his beach chair.”

  I laughed. “Maybe you need a beach chair.”

  “He sells his stock dirt cheap, that’s why.”

  Her phone buzzed again, and she read the text. The two guys had not given up yet.

  “Why don’t you go play with your little friends?” There was always pure tension in Clutch’s tone when he spoke to her, but it wasn’t anger. It was frustration.

  She waved to the guys. “I’ve got plenty of them out there.”

  Clutch crossed his arms, something he did a lot around her, and I was pretty sure it was out of self-preservation. “And yet, you stand here and annoy me.”

  She stepped in front of him and lifted her chin up in the air, a gesture she’d perfected. “Don’t flatter yourself, Clutch.” She turned away and headed for the guys who had been texting her.

  Clutch watched her walk away the same way I’d watched Scotlyn leave. “Why the fuck does she dress like that?”

  I looked over at him. “Like what?”

  He dropped his arms, finally able to relax now that she was out of reach. “Like one of those Daisy May farmer’s daughters. You know with the old man who sleeps with his damn hunting rifle and the poor unsuspecting salesman shows up to the house and the daughter seduces him.”

  I lifted a brow and stared at him. “Well, I’m going to go out on a limb and say she’s dressed that way because she’s seventeen and she likes the attention.” I smiled. “Farmer’s daughter? A fantasy of yours?”

  “Shut the hell up, Nix. And look who’s talking? Just how fast did you slip into the bathroom to jack off after that girl walked away from you? I saw you coming around the building.”

  He could sense my anger and he shut up fast.

  “I thi
nk I’ve had about enough of this place tonight,” I said. “I think I’m going to head to the harbor.” As I turned to leave, a convertible Mustang pulled up, and the driver laid on the horn.

  Clutch’s shoulders tensed. “What the hell is she doing?”

  The two guys that Taylor had left to talk to were pulling her toward the Mustang. Taylor was laughing at first but then her smile faded. She was struggling to get out of their grasp, but they got her to the car, picked her up, and tossed her into the backseat. I’d never seen Clutch move so fast. He stood in front of the car like Thor and scowled down at the driver. The idiot laid on the horn again, but Clutch didn’t budge.

  “Get out of the car, Taylor.”

  “She’s with us,” the driver, who apparently had a death wish, said confidently. “Why don’t you go back to your beanstalk?”

  I walked over to the car and lowered my hand for Taylor. She looked relieved to see me and reached for my hand, but one of the guys in the back blocked her from taking it. We’d drawn a pretty decent crowd by this point. Taylor looked scared, and I’d had enough. I reached for the door handle just as Clutch slammed both of his fists down on the hood of the car leaving two matching dents. “Taylor, get out of the fucking car, right now,” he said between gritted teeth.

  The driver lifted up in his seat and looked out as his hood. “What the fuck? You dented my car.”

  This time when I lowered my hand for Taylor to take no one blocked it. She grabbed it, and I lifted her up and over the side of the car. The second her feet hit the ground, she ran off.

  Clutch stepped aside, and with a flourish of his hand, he suggested they drive away. Which they did— without hesitation. The steam was still rising off my buddy’s skin as he stepped back over to the side of the road. The spectators broke apart mumbling in disappointment at the uneventful ending.

  We watched the Mustang screech out of the driveway. I looked up at him. “That was subtle.”

  “Shut up, Nix. What a lousy-ass night. Let’s get out of here. I’ll give you a ride to your car. Where’s Dray?”

  “Haven’t seen him.” We walked over to the Pontiac. An older man was looking underneath the hood.

  “Give me a minute, Nix. Let me see if this is a serious buyer or just some goofball.”