Page 180 of Fighting the Forbidden

Should I interrupt? Maybe draw the man away from Griff so he can finish the job without being annoyed?

“So, this chick is a seven at best, but she’s got major attitude,” the man says.

“Can’t imagine why,” Griff mutters.

The man lets out a hearty chuckle. “Right?”

Lines of tension bracket Griff’s mouth and crease his forehead as he tightens a bolt.

“We’re at the restaurant and she’s talking about this movie she wants to see. And I mean, honestly, after dinner, I thought we’d go back to her place.”

“Sounds like she wasn’t interested,” Griff says.

“Yeah, so I ask her about work and she’s a nurse, so I make a joke about giving me a sponge bath.”

Gross.

“And she gets all offended. So I try again, like, ‘Oh do you have access to the good drugs?’” He punctuates that awful question with an equally terrible laugh. “‘Can you get your hands on some Oxycodone for us?’ And she just…”

I tune out the moronic guy’s babbling. The tension in Griff’s face shifts from annoyance to anger as the guy keeps joking about illicit painkillers. Given his mom’s history, I can’t blame him. Griff’s fingers grip the wrench so tight, his knuckles turn pale. His arm muscles pop and strain as he cranks another bolt into place.

“I pick up the shaker and ask where does salt come from anyway, and she looks at me like I’m stupid?—”

“Google is free, Glen,” Griff says through clenched teeth.

I have to say something before Griff beats this guy to death with the wrench. “Salt mines and evaporated seawater,” I blurt, taking a few steps closer.

Genuine relief and happiness smooth out the harsh edges of Griff’s face when his gaze lands on me. “Molly.”

The older man turns around. His cheeks pull into a feral smile as he takes me in. “What’s that, young lady?”

“Salt,” I say. “The majority comes from salt mines or evaporated seawater.” I’m almost positive that’s true.

“Look at that.” The man points at me. “Now, she’s a ten. Pretty, smart, and polite.”

Just listening to this guy makes me want to run home and rinse my ears with bleach. He has to be around my dad’s age, if not older, and everything about his tone sounds condescending, not complimentary.

“This is my girlfriend.” Griff shoots a hard look at his customer.

“Lucky man,” Glen continues, grinning and sliding his pervy gaze up and down my body. “Bet she treats you right.” His voice oozes sliminess.

Griff finishes with the tire, adjusts something, then sidesteps Glen. “You want to set your stuff down?” He tilts his head toward the bay where my car’s waiting. “I’ll be done in a few minutes.”

“Okay.” I want to kiss him but Glen’s watching as if he expects a free show. Instead of a kiss, I settle for squeezing Griff’s hand. He seems to sense my unease and returns the gesture.

The rest of the bays are empty, the doors closed. My lips curve when I reach my car. It’s come a long way since my birthday. We’ve replaced or fixed most of the interior. The exterior is all one color now—matte black. I pop the trunk, pull out my coveralls, and fling them over my arm.

I hoist my backpack onto the long counter running along the back wall of the garage. From the other end of the garage, a mechanical whir and clinking breaks the silence. Glen shouts something over the noise. I hope that means Griff’s almost done.

While I’m waiting, I step into the coveralls and zip the front. Griff must’ve organized the items we’re using today. I find two shiny side mirrors laid out with a bunch of brackets and tools. Technically, the passenger side wouldn’t have had a side mirror, but Griff said adding one or not was up to me, and I’m more interested in safety than historical accuracy.

An engine revs somewhere behind me. The garage door rattles and hums its way into place.

My heart pounds an excited beat. Griff must be finished and on his way to me.

The familiar scrape and scuff of his boots over the concrete echoes through the garage. I spin around. Weariness seems to slow his steps but warmth hovers in his eyes.

“Hey, baby. Sorry about that.” He jerks his thumb over his shoulder. “That dude’s got the personality of parsley but suffers under the delusion he’s a ghost pepper.”

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