Page 5 of Love in Mission City: The Shorts

Ah, so a little touchy about his name.I could relate.I took another sip.

“Andyourname?”Another slight bite.

“It’s on the front door.”

His brows shot up.“Your name is Spike?That a family name?”

I crossed my arms.

He took a step back.

Well, that was easy.Except, did I want him to back up?The guy was fucking gorgeous, and the more time I spent looking at his lips, the more I wanted to know if they were as soft as they appeared.I wanted to rub myself against him to see if he was as supple as he looked.I wanted to grind my cock into his to see if we could generate some friction.

“Sure, Spike’s a family name.Whatever.”Of course it wasn’t, and we both knew it.But I wasn’t admitting my true first name to anyone in the world.And if my mother hadn’t chosen it, I’d have changed it years ago.But it felt wrong to want to dump something she’d selected with loving care.Even if it had been the source of never-ending bullying and torment for most of my life.Someone at the old shop said I was as spikey as a hedgehog.I later learned the expression was prickly, but spikey caught on, and soon everyone called me Spike.It stuck.So when I struck out on my own, it made sense to keep the name.

“Yes, well, as you say.”He ran his hand through his hair again.The strands were becoming as spikey as my name.“I just…do you think…?”He faltered visibly.

“Spit it out, man.I don’t have all day.”Despite having just opened officially this morning—to exactly zero fanfare—I already had three machines to work on, plus my own beauty needed a tune-up.I’d racked up quite a few miles, coming back and forth between Surrey and my new place.Movers delivered everything Friday, and now, Monday morning, I was set and ready to go.

“I…” He took a deep breath.“I’m wondering if you could keep the noise down?”

I blinked.“Come again?”

“Well, you know, we like a peaceful downtown, and your, uh, bikes are very loud.”

He was serious?“Look, Dickens, I don’t know what you’re talking about.People drive down First Avenue all the time.And there’s parking on the street.Also, in case you haven’t noticed, the train whistles go off all the time.”

Now he blinked.“They’re part of the fabric of our town and its history.We’ve always had industries that rely on the railway.And the commuter train, of course.”

“Of course.”I scrunched my nose.“So all that noise is okay, but not the occasional motorcycle engine.”

His spine visibly stiffened as he stood straighter.“Occasional?It’s been revving all morning.And those things—” He pointed with obvious disdain, “—are designed to be a menace.People make them deliberately louder than they need to be just so they can disrupt the peace.”

Well, I couldn’t argue with that.Did I encourage people to do that?Of course not.If they wanted it, did I dissuade them?No to that as well.“I haven’t been revving anything all morning.I needed to check out this baby’s carburetor to make sure she was working properly.”I pointed to the Kawasaki.“That one’s next.”

He took a sip of his drink and scowled.

“Problem?”

“It’s cold.”

Ah.Mr.Prissy didn’t like cold coffee either.Well, if he hadn’t stood around whining, it wouldn’t have grown cold.I, however, was not going to point that out.“Look, buddy, I have to get back to work.I’ll try not to be too loud.”Totally impossible promise to make, but I really wanted him to take his uptight ass off my property and back to wherever he’d come from.“Hey, where do you work?”

“The Owl’s Nest.”

The…?Oh, right, the shop next door.The one with books all over the front window.“That’s a bookshop, right?”

“Of course.”

Guy actually rolled his eyes.I couldn’t think of him as Dickens.The name was just too pretentious.Well, on the other hand, it suited him.But I didn’t want to think about Dickens because that’d remind me of my mom, and I so didn’t want to go down that particular path.“Well, head on back to your bookshop.I have work to do.”

He harrumphed.

Actually harrumphed.

Then he pivoted and stomped out of sight.

Except loafers on the cement sidewalk didn’t have the same effect as, for example, high heels clacking on hardwood.He reminded me of my old boss, Gia.She’d inherited the shop when she was barely twenty-two.Her old man passed suddenly of a heart attack at age fifty.She shucked the biker-babe persona and became a businesswoman.She ran a tight ship and there’d been no bullshit around her place.

---