Page 47 of Mechanic

“I am here to talk to you,” he says, finally answering my question but refusing to turn around to face me.

Huffing out a snort of derision, I move past Roderick to grab a coffee mug just as the pot finishes brewing.

“For fuck’s sake,” he gripes out. “Put some damn pants on.”

“Fuck you,” I bite back. “You wake me up, invade my fucking kitchen, and then have theballsto complain about mywardrobe?” My words are punctuated by my finger jabbing hard into Roderick’s chest since he has finally turned to face me.

“If you insist on talking, say what you came to say and then get the fuck out!”

Dumping some cream into my coffee, I slam the refrigerator door closed before stomping back to my bedroom and slamming the door closed behind me.

Sitting on the bed, I drink my coffee and try to calm down. When the cup is empty, I move to the shower.

Standing under the hot spray, the water seeps into my muscles. A noise has me poking my head out of the shower. My teeth grind together when I spot a fresh cup of coffee on the counter. All of the good the shower has done is now down the drain, literally and figuratively.

Blowing out a breath, I shut the water off and step out. Halfway through drying myself off, I realize that I never actually got washed.

“Fuck it, I’ll get another shower after he leaves,” I mutter to myself.

Tossing on a tank top and a pair of cut-off sweats, I wrap a towel around my wet hair and start down the hall. After making it three steps, I realize that my coffee is still on the bathroom counter.

After retrieving the mug, I pad down the hall, finding Roderick sitting at my dining room table, eating the small meal he cooked.

“Come sit and eat, then we can talk,” he says without bothering to look behind him.

I want to get him out of here as quickly as possible. Despite the fact that I don’t want to eat, my stomach makes a loud gurgling noise, letting me know how it feels about my idea.

Begrudgingly, I sit down and make myself a plate, refusing to look at Roderick. With a fork full of food halfway to my mouth,the sudden clanging of a fork against ceramic, paired with Roderick’s sudden exclamation, lifts my gaze.

“Can’t you put on some fucking clothes?” he gripes.

Looking down my body, my brows knit together, trying to figure out what he is finding fault with now.

“What is your problem now?” I bite out.

Forgetting about the food, I drop my own fork and cross my arms over my chest.

“Can’t you put a bra on? Your nipples are trying to poke holes through your shirt.”

“I’m not wearing underwear either,” I yell. “Since when are you the clothes police?”

Roderick scrubs his hands over his face.

“This is why I don’t date,” he mutters.

I don’t think I was supposed to hear that last comment, and it pisses me off more than I already was. That’s something I didn’t think was possible.

Slamming both hands on the table, causing the dishes to rattle, I rise to my feet, leaning toward him over the table. Roderick’s eyes glance down my body briefly before moving back to meet my eyes.

“You want to talk? Fine, let’s talk,” I say, my voice overloud in the small space.

“When I was young, my parents died,” I start, not giving Roderick a chance to say a word. “My father, who was a magician, was my world. He would sit and teach me card tricks. I was fascinated with them.

“After my parents passed, I went to live with my grandmother. Gram became my whole world.” Tears escape as my eyes flick to the urn holding her ashes. “Gram would sit and watch card shows that I would perform for her. It was our link to my deceased father. She would clap and give me standing ovations, and I would bow to the applause,” I say with a sniffle. Grabbing anapkin off the table, I wipe my nose. Roderick sits there silently, letting me talk.

“I started college right after high school. That’s when Gram got sick.” I take a sip of coffee and collect myself.

“School was no longer an option, so Shawna got me a job as a cocktail waitress at the Wildfire.

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