Page 2 of Trouble
There was only one woman, my entire life, that had ever held my attention.
She was off limits.
Because…
Bro code.
We don’t date sisters.
Especially not sisters of best friends.
In Cali Cross High, me, Andre Cash, Wes Young and Jack Cairney were tight. We had each other’s backs; we were closer than blood brothers. We did everything together, well, maybe not everything. We were the cool guys, the hot guys, the ones girls wanted—other guys wanted to be. None of us were jocks, or preppy, bad boys or geeks, but we were popular in our own right. Until Andre went to college, and Jack’s motorcycling career split us apart.
It bothered me to think of Jack. He thought he was the next Wayne Rainey or Nicky Hayden. We’d once been so close, shared a lot of stuff over the years, but when we both started racing, it was clear who had all the talent, and subsequently got all the breaks. I was still bitter to think that he was now the one with the skyrocketing career, and I was stuck fixing engines. There was a part of me that followed his career with morbid interest, even though I was insanely jealous of him. I hadn’t seen him in so long, I didn’t know whether we’d still be friends if he came back.
Now it was just Wes, Dre and me. Well, when Dre was back from college anyway. Apparently, he’d be back permanently soon having scored a gig at the Country Club, which straddled Cali Cross and Cali Heights. I wasn’t jealous of him. I had no interest in kowtowing to the rich and privileged and catering to their every whim. But Andre would make the job a success and put his own spin on it.
Of all of us, Andre was the most intelligent; the one most-likely-to-make-it.
And the one with the most fuckable sister.
I shook the thought from my head.
Now was not the time to be thinking of Lyla Cash, the one woman who haunted my dreams on a nightly basis.
I heaved a sigh.
The other guys had gone home for the night, but I needed to finish the tune up on the Kennedy car, they’d be picking it up first thing in the morning. Mr. Kennedy always gave me a little bit extra if I did a good job. That was one good thing about knowing everyone in town. Word gets around. If you’re one of the good ones people appreciate you more. I’d been fixing the Kennedy’s cars since I’d first learned what a cam belt was; they’d been coming to the garage for years. I did some mental calculations, with the extra from Ms. Woods, then whatever came from the Kennedy job, I’d definitely have enough cash to finish up the car I was currently working on. Get it sold and then onto the next.
Aside from Lyla, the thing I dreamed about most was a MG Midget. A classic, British car, the best ones were from the nineteen seventies. For as long as I could remember, I’d always coveted the MG; ever since my dad had shown me the photograph of my mom standing next to one at a car show. Someday, I’d get my hands on one, do it up and drive around town in it—in memory of my folks.
But if I didn’t get this job done, I wouldn’t be close to getting the cash I needed for the next car.
Radio on, I set about the rest of the work I needed to do: flushing the old fluids, adding fresh ones, and changing the filters. It was a task I’d done many times, so many it was almost therapeutic. I could tune out and think about other things.
My phone buzzed and I nearly cracked my head on the hood as I stood to go and grab it from the desk.
Wes: You still free tonight?
Me: Yup. Gotta finish up changing these filters first.
Wes: Good. You’re not blowing me out for some chick this time?
I grinned. The last time we were meant to meet up, I’d had my head turned by some blonde who hadn’t even lasted the rest of the week.
Me: Never.
Wes: Yeah, yeah, whatever. You gonna be long?
Me: Gimme half an hour. If you get to the diner before me, I’ll have a beer.
Wes: Haha. Right. See you soon.
Wes sounded like he wanted a chat. He never usually checked we were still going out, he’d just make the assumption I’d be there. I wondered if there was something going on with him and Scarlett. My mouth quirked up at the thought of Wes and Scarlett. They were a solid couple, had been ever since we started senior year, the golden couple everyone envied. Including me. I laughed to myself. They were probably the people I should be jealous of, not Jack Cairney and his motorbike.
Quickly, I fired back a reply to say I’d be there as soon as I could and tuned my thoughts out to concentrate on the task at hand. The sooner I finished, the sooner I could get away and maybe work on one of my pretties if we didn’t stay out too late.
With renewed focus, I was able to complete the Kennedy job.
