Twisted Twosome

  “Nice, man,” Racer’s friend says right before he fist-bumps him. “That’s some wooing kind of shit right there.”

  Racer blows on his knuckles and then rubs them on his chest. “I do think so myself.”

  And once again, like a wet blanket tamping down my flame, I’m reminded why I can’t stand the man in front of me. He’s so freaking arrogant.

  “You’re annoying,” I huff as I stomp away, unable to come up with a better comeback.

  Madison starts to slow clap as I walk way. “Well played, Racer, well played.”

  “You’re my friend, Madison,” I yell.

  “But that was so good,” she says while chasing after me.

  It was. Darn it, it was really, really good.

  ***

  “Stop stroking his arms and let the man work,” I yell at Madison once again.

  “But look at them.” My friend who has no shame stands in front of Aaron—aka, Smalls, but I refuse to call him that, especially since he’s anything but small—stroking his arms while she flirts abhorrently. “I’ve never seen a man this buff.”

  “Have your eyes been closed when you’ve been around me?” Racer asks from on top of the scaffolding.

  “Please,” Aaron snorts. “You know you’re nothing like me.”

  Racer points his hand that’s holding a pencil at Aaron. “Don’t you dare give me a complex again, man. Tell me I’m just as big. Tell me.”

  Aaron rolls his eyes. “You’re big, Racer.”

  “Damn right.” Racer goes back to marking something on the wall and says, “Get your ass up here, Smalls, I don’t have all fucking night.”

  Having no self-respect, Madison asks, “Do you have a girlfriend, Aaron?”

  He scratches the back of his neck and looks over to Racer for help.

  “Better answer the question,” I say while adding up some numbers on my computer. My eyes are starting to cross from the amount of digits floating around in my head. “She’s not going to let you go until she finds out.”

  “She’s right,” Madison confirms.

  “No girlfriend.” Aaron steps away and starts to climb the scaffolding as Madison smiles brightly and sits down next to me.

  “I like him.”

  “You like his muscles,” I correct.

  “Well, yeah. But I also like him; there is something he’s hiding and I want to know what it is.”

  “He’s hiding a micro penis,” Racer calls out. “He’s overcompensating with the muscles.”

  “And what excuse does that give you?” Aaron asks. He picks up a palette of patch and starts dragging it over the seams in the drywall.

  “It’s the opposite of you. I’m trying to keep up with my dick. It’s hard to match my muscles to it because it’s so big.”

  I snort . . . well, because, he’s so ridiculous and obnoxious and full of himself.

  “What’s so funny down there, Georgie?”

  “You’re acting like you have a horse leg between your thighs.”

  “Who says I don’t?” Racer picks up a spackle knife and joins Aaron in patching the ceiling.

  “You don’t,” Aaron mutters.

  “Dude.” Racer holds out his hand. “Bro code. We all praise each other’s dicks in front of women.”

  Aaron doesn’t even bother to look at Racer as he continues to work on the ceiling. “First of all, there is no such thing as bro code for praising each other’s dicks. Don’t make up stupid shit. And second of all, if I’m, in your words, supposed to be your bro and praise your dick, then where were you two seconds ago when you were telling everyone I have a micro penis?”

  “Ooooooo.” Madison claps her hands. “Burned.” With her hands on her chest, gazing up at Aaron, she asks, “Will you take me home with you?”

  I slyly eye Racer who has a smirk on his face. “He got you there, horse leg.”

  Looking between all of us, Racer doesn’t say a word, but he does start unbuckling his pants.

  Oh Jesus . . .

  “Whip it out, and I will spackle it to the ceiling. Close up shop, dude. No one wants to see your stank cock.”

  I laugh out loud and repeat, “Stank cock.”

  “It’s not stanky,” Racer says. “I wash my junk twice a day.”

  “Just keep working, stank cock,” I call up. “I would like to get this place done in this century. Also, Aaron, you’re allowed here anytime you want. I like how you put Racer in his place.”

  “He’s just showing off.” Racer elbows Aaron in the ribs and then climbs down the scaffolding.

  “Where you going?” Aaron calls out. I was just about to ask the same exact thing.

  Walking out the door, Racer calls out, “You all have upset me. I need to have a moment with my main squeeze.”

  The front door slams shut, sending a resounding rattle through the empty shop.

  “Who’s his main squeeze?” Madison asks. “I thought he was single.”

  Aaron sighs and continues to work. “Little Debbie. He’s having a moment with Little Debbie.”

  I roll my eyes and get back to work. Why am I not surprised?

  ***

  “Do you need help?” I call out to Racer who’s in the back of the shop, cleaning up his spackle spades.

  “I’m good. I’ve got this.”

  “Okay.” I shift on my feet and pull on the hem of my shirt. Madison left a while ago, unable to score Aaron’s number, who even though he played hard to get, snuck glances at Madison when she wasn’t looking. And Aaron took off once they finished the ceiling, leaving Racer and me alone. “I guess I’ll head out now. Do you want to lock up?”

  “It’s eleven o’clock. I’ll walk you to your car, Georgie. So sit your ass down and wait for me to finish up.”

  “I’m more than capable of walking myself to my car.”

  There is a plop on the floor and the telltale sign of metal clanking together. “I know you’re capable, Princess, but that doesn’t mean you should go out there alone. So, like I said before, sit your ass down and wait a few seconds.”

  “You’re so confusing, you know that?” I slide down against the wall and sit on the floor.

  “How’s that?”

  “Because one minute you’re sulking in the corner about some asinine thing and the next you’re being an overprotective alpha who thinks everything he says is right.”

  “That’s because everything I say is right.” He pokes his head out from around the corner. “And you like it when I sulk. I’ve seen it in your eyes.”

  “I don’t like it when you sulk. No one likes a man-child.”

  “Lying to yourself is only going to hurt you in the long run, Georgie. The sooner you accept your love for me, the better.”

  I shake my head and rest it against the wall. He’s infuriating.

  Twisted in a way.

  Hot and cold.

  Sweet and sour.

  Like he can’t make up his mind about how he wants to interact with me.

  Stepping into the hallway where I’m sitting, he scans me up and down and adjusts his backward cap on his head. “Petrichor. Can you smell it, Georgie?” When I’m about to answer, thinking he’s speaking of the new journey he spoke of on the developing bathroom wall, he nods toward the front door.

  Rain floods the window, lighting up the dark streets with pelts of water, emanating the smell I’ve come to notice even on the inside looking out.

  I take a deep breath and close my eyes, memories flooding my mind.

  Loss.

  Loneliness.

  Abandonment.

  Discouragement . . .

  When I open my eyes, new memories waiting to be made in this shop wash away the old.

  Can you smell anew?

  I can’t only smell it, but I can also see it.

  “Come on.” Racer reaches for my hand and pulls me to my feet. Without even giving me a second to catch my feet under me, he rushes me across the shop and straight into the road. He flings me into the empty street t
hat is only lit by a single street lamp. I cover my head as cold, chilling rain drenches me.

  “What are you doing?” I look over to Racer whose arms are at his side, his head tilted to the sky. Water cascades down his powerful body, soaking his shirt to his skin, making every contour and sinew visible through the fabric. But it isn’t the muscles that are pulling my attention, it’s the ease in his stature—an ease I’ve never seen in him before.

  He’s relaxed.

  Carefree.

  Complaisantly beautiful.

  “Enjoy the moment, Georgie. Take it all in.”

  I shield the rain from pelting me in the eyes. “But I’m getting wet.”

  He spreads his arms out wide and soaks in more. “It’s called living. Life is short, Georgie. You never know when your time is up, so spend every waking moment you have experiencing what life has to offer. Your clothes will dry, but your memory of this moment will live forever.” How can he know that this is one of the few moments when I’ve experienced life, and not done life?

  I pause, unsure what to do, and it must be too long, because before I know it, Racer is picking me up and spinning me around in the street as rain whips around us. I hold on to him for dear life and laugh when he starts to lose control, toppling us over into a puddle forming in a grass patch on the sidewalk. Mud splatters across the street and all over us, but I’m too consumed with Racer’s position than with the mess I’ve become.

  Hovering over me, drenched, is Racer with a devilish look in his eyes.

  “Why are you so stuck -up?” he asks over the pouring from the skies.

  I wipe my face with the back of my hand, trying to get a better visual on the man above me. “Why are you such a man-child?”

  “You learn to live freely when you lose a piece of your heart. It’s the only way to survive.”

  Caught off guard by his answer, I tilt my head to the side and ask, “Did someone break your heart?”

  He runs a hand over his jaw, studying me for a second before he pops up and answers, “Something like that.” He pulls me to my feet again and turns us toward the shop. “It’s getting late.”

  The lightheartedness vanishes. The Racer capable of throwing wit my way at the drop of a hat is back.

  Who broke his heart?

  And why am I now so desperate to find out?

  Chapter Twelve

  RACER

  “Dude, don’t burn my wiener.”

  “I’m not burning it.”

  I point at the hot dog I specifically chose and say, “See that black stuff, that’s burning of the wiener skin.”

  “Christ.” Tucker strokes the stubble on his beard and points at one of the outdoor chairs with his grilling tongs. “Sit the fuck down or leave.”

  “Talk about hospitality.” I fold my arms over my chest and flop down on the outdoor couch. “If Emma knew you were yelling at your dinner guest, she would be pissed at you.”

  “Doesn’t count where you’re concerned. She’s given me a pass when dealing with you. She knows what a little bitch you can be.”

  “That’s not true. Emma would never let you treat me with such disdain.” I point at my chest. “I’m the only reason you two are together.”

  The door leading out to the porch swings open and Smalls walks out holding three uncapped beers. He hands them out and sits on the rail of the porch, his feet perched up on one of the fence rungs. “Are you claiming responsibility for Tucker’s fortune again?”

  “I’m not claiming it; it’s cold hard facts.”

  “The fuck it is,” Tucker answers. “You were a glorified delivery boy.”

  “I used glitter!”

  Last year, Tucker was an idiot and almost lost the best thing to ever happen to him: Emma. Not going to lie, she’s hot as fuck. I was trying to get Tucker to set me up with her but the prick he is, he kept her to himself, and look what happened. He fucked up and little old Racer had to save the day. Insert jacking-off motion here.

  Idiot.

  I made things happen for them and subtle reminders of how I’m so great shouldn’t hurt him. Hell, I gave him love again. You can’t ever repay someone for that. At least that’s what I keep telling him. Just secretly, seeing Tucker in love and hopeful was better than any repayment I could ever receive. So not telling him that though.

  “No one asked you to use glitter, that was your own choice.”

  “It was a nice touch. It’s called committing to the role you gave me. Will you never understand that?”

  “Never,” Tucker replies and then turns to Smalls. “Racer told me you were flapping your cock around at a girl the other day. Said you were really trying to hang it low over scaffolding. What’s that about?”

  You and I both know Smalls wasn’t hanging his dick out, but sometimes when telling a story, exaggeration is required. So naturally, I turned the tables on Smalls and told Tucker he was practically masturbating over Madison when in reality, he was just sneaking glances. But only saying he was sneaking glances adds no drama. So pulling the dick out was the next best option. Always a winner in my book.

  Smalls quirks his lip to the side when he looks at me and then shakes his head while taking a sip of his beer. “Yup, I totally jizzed all over her face from eight feet above. The accuracy I had was on point.”

  “He hit her arm, don’t let him fool you. Splattered sperm everywhere.”

  “Dude,” Tucker groans. “Don’t fucking say splattered sperm. What is wrong with you?”

  “Especially since your story is completely off base. Limits, man, you’ve got to know your limits,” Smalls says.

  Splattered sperm might have been pushing my luck . . .

  “So what really happened?” Tucker shuts the grill and turns toward us.

  I point at the grill and lift my head to look at what’s happening in it. “Are you burn—?”

  “I’m not fucking burning your hot dog. Calm your nut sack, man.” Tucker runs his hand over his face, frustration clear in the way his neck veins pop. Something has to be going on with him and Emma. He doesn’t normally get this irritated so quickly. It usually takes me a little longer than this to piss him off. “What happened with the girl?”

  Sensing the tension, Smalls clears his throat and says, “It was a friend of Racer’s client. She was flirting. That’s it.”

  “Flirting?” I scoff. “She was practically humping Smalls’s leg. The sad thing was, he didn’t give her the time of day.”

  “Not your type?” Tucker asks.

  “Totally his type. He was acting—”

  “Hey, how about how we talk about Racer and how he’s in love with his client,” Smalls says with a smirk.

  With a smarmy look on his face, Tucker folds his arms over his chest and sips his beer. “Oh, do tell.”

  “I’m not in love with my client. Where the hell did you come up with that?”

  “Please.” Smalls snorts and turns directly toward Tucker and speaks to him as if I’m not standing a few feet away. “You should see him with this girl, man. She’s hot, and he doesn’t hide the fact that he knows it. His eyes wander too much.”

  “Nothing wrong with looking.” I chug my beer, getting myself ready for another one.

  “And when he’s around her, it’s like they’re in grade school. He’s always pulling pranks on her.”

  “She’s uptight. She needs to learn to relax so she’s not always harassing me about her damn budget and timeline. It’s for my benefit.”

  Ignoring me, Smalls continues, “And then he goes and pulls this philosophical bullshit by leaving special words around the project site that mean something.”

  “It’s nice to . . .” Huh, what’s my excuse for this one? “It’s nice to be nice.” There, that doesn’t sound idiotic at all.

  Smiling a little too brightly, Tucker repeats, “It’s nice to be nice? When has that ever been your motto?”

  I have nothing, absolutely nothing. When has my mind ever gone blank like this? I’m usually quick on my
feet. I blame Georgie and her low-cut shirts; they flood my mind making it waterlogged.

  I really don’t like the look on Tucker’s face right now. “So you like this girl.”

  “No.” Maybe-ish, but we’ll keep that between us. “She’s annoying as shit, doesn’t stop talking, and she’s on a different playing field than I am. No way am I getting involved with that. Not even for a good fuck.” It would be a good fuck. I know it would be. Sometimes the stuck-up ones are the best because when they get a chance to unleash pent-up aggression, they go crazy in bed. Knowing Georgie, I know she would consume me in the sheets. No doubt about that.

  Tucker and Smalls exchange glances, the kind of glances that speak a thousand words between them, and I don’t appreciate it.

  I point my finger at both of them. “Don’t do that. Don’t look at each other as if you know something I don’t know. I’m aware of that look. There is nothing going on. She’s hot, gorgeous actually, I’ll give you that, but that’s it.”

  Smalls doesn’t even acknowledge what I just said. “He likes her, you can see it all over his face.”

  “I don’t like her. I tolerate her.”

  Leveling with me, Tucker says, “Let me ask you this. Have you shared a Little Debbie snack with her yet?”

  “Hell, no.” Lies! I’ve thought about it. Shit, I thought about stocking the shop with a crate full of them, possibly playing a game where we close our eyes and have to eat the first one we pick and then guess what it is. Hell, I want to play that game right now. I would dominate.

  “Do you want to?” Smalls asks, smiling too damn wide.

  “She wouldn’t eat them if I offered. She has caviar taste, man. She’s fancy as shit. Our lives clash.” Growing serious for a second, I grab the back of my neck. “She’s paying me to fix up her shop. I’m desperate for the money, and she knows this. I know what I look like to her.” And I fucking hate it.

  “And what’s that?”

  “A man who can’t provide for himself. A penniless man with no education, no savings, and nothing to offer someone like her. Hell, she sees me drive up in a rusted-up truck every day, wearing a rotation of two pairs of jeans with the same paint marks on them. I have nothing to offer a woman who has everything. So there’s no reason to even visit the topic if I like her or not, because whether I do or not is a moot point. The feeling would not be returned.” That is something I know.