Page 71 of Grease Monkey
“What the hell has gotten into you?”
“Fuck,” I roar, balling my fist up and punching metal drawers. The pain is welcomed, a distraction from whatever the fuck is warring inside me right now. I drop my head, unable to look at Ozzy as I say, “She’s Morgana.”
“Who?”
“Ana. Connecticut.”
“The girl who was just here?” I nod, and he inhales sharply. “Oh, shit.”
He sighs, and I hear him drop into one of the chairs.
“You okay?” he asks, and I begin pacing again, rubbing my palm over my red, angry knuckles. “Well, I’ll order the part I need to fix her car, get it sent on fast delivery, and I’ll have it—”
“No.”
“Teddy…”
“No, Oscar, you’ll have nothing to do with her. I’ll order the part. I’ll fix her car. You’re fucking done with her. Do you hear me?”
“Dude, you need to calm down.”
“Why is she here?” I roar, asking yet another person the question that won’t stop nagging at me as I round on my best friend for the second time. Ozzy doesn’t skip a beat as he jumps up and kicks his foot behind my ankle, making me topple into his vacated chair. He spins and plants his ass on my lap, making himself a dead weight as I thrash under him.
“Get the fuck off me.”
“No.”
“Oscar, fucking move.”
“No. You’re in a time out,” he says, fastening his hands to the armrests and baring down. I relent, huffing and puffing as I pretend to let the fight in me die for his benefit, but inside, I’m still apoplectic.
“Alright, I’m calm. You can get off me now.” He wiggles his hips and then gets up. “I do need her contact details, though.”
“Dude, seriously?” he groans, turning to drop his ass back onto my lap.
I push at his lower back, stopping him in mid-air. “I need it to log in her into our system. That’s all.”
Not completely a lie.
He huffs and straightens, grabbing a clipboard from the coffee table and tapping it on my knee. I review the address, noting that she’s staying not that far from here, and her number has changed.
Right. Cool. Good. That’ll make avoiding her that much easier.
Fix her car, send her on her way, and then forget all about her.
Easy.
It isn’t easy. Not by a long shot when I’m constantly reminded of her as I work on her car.
Open the door to release the handbrake—her unique scent barrels out.
Turn on the ignition—the stereo flares to life with Planet Rock radio blasting seventies rock.
The anger at her being in Phoenix rears its ugly head again as a text from Claudia pops up in the afternoon, calling our arrangement off. Apparently, getting caught about to screw someone else while fighting for an unfair share of her husband’s wealth is enough to have her rethink everything. Money comes first and all that. Not that I care. She was a fuck, nothing more, but it’s Morganastillcausing issues in my life less than twenty-four hours after arriving back in it.
I’m a live wire, bursting and buzzing with energy, and I need an outlet.
“You okay to close up?”
