Read Online Tainted Love: A Lovestruck Novella, Book 1 by Lane Hart, Aaron Daniels, Editor's Choice Publishing - Free Book Online Page B
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crisp. After that, she decided she wanted to travel around and try out to become a dancer for professional sports teams. So, being the nice guy I can sometimes be since she was fucking me three times a day in the beginning, I offered to let her stay with me, stay being the keyword, until she found another job. She apparently took that to mean move in indefinitely. After that, we maybe had sex once a week, and I can’t say I really missed it. Getting myself off was quicker, with less drama, so yeah…
I, of course, pay the bill even though Josie protests, which is cute; and then a few minutes later I’m dropping her off in front of the law office where she just told me she’s been a paralegal for three years. How is it that we’ve lived only a few miles away from each other and work less than two blocks away, but have never met before this week?
“See you tonight?” I ask. “I mean, this afternoon after work?” Shit, all I can think about is seeing her tonight, preferably in a bed, mine or hers. And since I showered using her soaps and shampoos, I’ll be inhaling her delicious scent all damn day. Moroccan My Shine , according to the label on the bottle, smells like heaven.
“Yes, I’ll be by after work,” she answers after she climbs out of the truck, a light dusting of pink blush now coloring her flawless skin. “Usually I leave around five, unless an emergency comes up.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll stick around until you come by,” I assure her. “Have a good one.”
“You too,” she says before the door shuts, and I drive with reluctance to the shop for maybe the first time ever.
I love the garage. It’s my happy place. The smell of it always reminds me of my grandpa, since it’s one of the first memories I have of him, my dad bringing me by to visit after picking me up from school. Grandpa Andrews would sit down and hang out in the lobby with us in his dirtied up coveralls, giving me a Sun Drop to drink and a pack of Nabs from the vending machine while he asked about my day. When I got older, thirteen or so, he let me spend a few days off in the summer with him in the garage, teaching me everything he knew. By the time I was sixteen, I was working here after school and every day during summer break to make money to buy my own car. There were so many great memories here that I couldn’t let them sell it to a stranger after we lost grandpa five years ago to a stroke that came out of nowhere.
Everyone expected my older brother Abe to take it over, but he doesn’t give two shits about cars. So, my dad helped me get started with the financial side of things, and the rest is history. Sure, I have a degree in history; but before I could find a job teaching like I intended, I ended up owning Andrews’ Auto Shop .
I couldn’t tell you how many customers call me Andrew because they think it’s my first name. That doesn’t bother me all that much. What does bother me is when they ask to speak to my manager because they don’t think I look old enough to run a business.
At nine-oh-six, my first employee walks in, almost on time.
“Hey, Law. Sorry I’m late,” Ryan, a nineteen-year-old high school dropout, says when he punches his card in on the time clock. It’s the same clock that’s been on the wall since the garage first opened forty-five years ago. When I asked him why he had the thing, Grandpa’s response was, “Because I trust these guys.” I guess he meant that, since he trusted them, they could easily take advantage of him, so the clock was to protect himself from someone betraying his trust. Fuck if I don’t know exactly how that feels, only the guy who worked for me screwed me over in a slightly more literal way.
“At least you’re here,” I reply, barely sparing him a glance from where I’m still working underneath the BMW’s hood.
“Whoa,” Ryan remarks. “Why are you in such a good mood this morning? Get laid last night? Usually you bitch about me being a lazy slacker
I, of course, pay the bill even though Josie protests, which is cute; and then a few minutes later I’m dropping her off in front of the law office where she just told me she’s been a paralegal for three years. How is it that we’ve lived only a few miles away from each other and work less than two blocks away, but have never met before this week?
“See you tonight?” I ask. “I mean, this afternoon after work?” Shit, all I can think about is seeing her tonight, preferably in a bed, mine or hers. And since I showered using her soaps and shampoos, I’ll be inhaling her delicious scent all damn day. Moroccan My Shine , according to the label on the bottle, smells like heaven.
“Yes, I’ll be by after work,” she answers after she climbs out of the truck, a light dusting of pink blush now coloring her flawless skin. “Usually I leave around five, unless an emergency comes up.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll stick around until you come by,” I assure her. “Have a good one.”
“You too,” she says before the door shuts, and I drive with reluctance to the shop for maybe the first time ever.
I love the garage. It’s my happy place. The smell of it always reminds me of my grandpa, since it’s one of the first memories I have of him, my dad bringing me by to visit after picking me up from school. Grandpa Andrews would sit down and hang out in the lobby with us in his dirtied up coveralls, giving me a Sun Drop to drink and a pack of Nabs from the vending machine while he asked about my day. When I got older, thirteen or so, he let me spend a few days off in the summer with him in the garage, teaching me everything he knew. By the time I was sixteen, I was working here after school and every day during summer break to make money to buy my own car. There were so many great memories here that I couldn’t let them sell it to a stranger after we lost grandpa five years ago to a stroke that came out of nowhere.
Everyone expected my older brother Abe to take it over, but he doesn’t give two shits about cars. So, my dad helped me get started with the financial side of things, and the rest is history. Sure, I have a degree in history; but before I could find a job teaching like I intended, I ended up owning Andrews’ Auto Shop .
I couldn’t tell you how many customers call me Andrew because they think it’s my first name. That doesn’t bother me all that much. What does bother me is when they ask to speak to my manager because they don’t think I look old enough to run a business.
At nine-oh-six, my first employee walks in, almost on time.
“Hey, Law. Sorry I’m late,” Ryan, a nineteen-year-old high school dropout, says when he punches his card in on the time clock. It’s the same clock that’s been on the wall since the garage first opened forty-five years ago. When I asked him why he had the thing, Grandpa’s response was, “Because I trust these guys.” I guess he meant that, since he trusted them, they could easily take advantage of him, so the clock was to protect himself from someone betraying his trust. Fuck if I don’t know exactly how that feels, only the guy who worked for me screwed me over in a slightly more literal way.
“At least you’re here,” I reply, barely sparing him a glance from where I’m still working underneath the BMW’s hood.
“Whoa,” Ryan remarks. “Why are you in such a good mood this morning? Get laid last night? Usually you bitch about me being a lazy slacker
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