Page 39 of My Brother's Bad Best Friend

Finally I grab the cash, open the safe, and toss it in. I lock the safe back up before printing Lizzie’s paperwork. She’s behind the counter when I emerge from my office making a latte for some guy with long blond hair pulled back into a ponytail. Lane’s flirting with a guy in a suit who looks a lot like he wants to know if she likes Huey Lewis and the News.

“Lizzie,” I call out, making her head snap in my direction. “You’re with me.”

“What?” She finishes her drink, putting it down onto the pickup counter.

“Paperwork.” I hold the stack up. “I think Lane can handle this.”

Lane gives me a thumbs-up, barely looking over.

“Come on, little rose,” I say, heading to the door. “Let’s make it official.”

I hear her start to argue but I’m already leaving the shop. She catches up with me as I’m halfway to my car.

“Can’t we sign everything back there?” she asks.

“Probably,” I say. “But I don’t feel like it.” I stop at the driver’s side door and cock my head at her. “Feel like going somewhere?”

She frowns a little bit. “I just want to work,” she says softly.

“I know. But come with me anyway.” I open my door and slip into the Jeep.

She sighs and goes around to the other side, climbing in. I start the engine and pull out, heading west toward the ocean. Lizzie doesn’t say much during the drive, just keeps her eyes glued on the window, and I know why. I think she freaks out a little bit every time she’s in a car, ever since that accident. I can’t say for sure though, but she looks paler and she’s very, very still.

I drive carefully, trying not to startle her, and we get to the shop a few minutes later. I park and step out of the car.

“What are we doing here?” she asks.

“I’m giving you a little bonus,” I say. “Come on.”

I head into the bike shop and she hurries to catch up. “Jonas, hold on. You’re not buying me a bike.”

“You need a way to get to work and I don’t feel like worrying about your ass every day. Consider it an advance on your paycheck if you want, but I’m calling it a gift.”

She’s arguing already as I push into the shop and ignore her. Bikes line the walls, stacked up and hanging and leaning up against each other. It’s almost impossible to breathe in this place, and it reeks of grease, metal, and rust.

There’s only one guy behind the counter, an older man named Randy. He glances up from his paperback book and smiles as I walk over toward him.

“Randy, how’s it going?”

He stands and shakes my hand. I know Randy from the skate park. He’s one of the old heads that still hangs around with the young skaters, talking about the old days and pulling off a few decent tricks. I also used to sell him weed, but hell, I used to sell everyone fucking weed.

“You here for a bike?” he asks.

I nod and gesture at Lizzie. She’s standing near the door, looking both shy and annoyed. “Something for her.”

He nods once. “What is she, five three?”

“Five four,” I correct.”

He grins and comes around the counter. “You got a preference?” he asks her.

She shakes her head, apparently unable to speak. I can tell she’s still annoyed that I railroaded her, but Randy’s taking over now, and there’s no stopping Randy.

He shrugs like he doesn’t care either way and steps toward his kingdom. There are tons of used bikes in here, all shapes and sizes, and I know for a fact that Randy knows each of them intimately. He picks them from the trash, fixes them up, and sells them again. San Diego is a skating city, but a lot of people still bike, and Randy’s selection is the best and the cheapest.

It takes him all of two minutes before he pulls out a little teal road bike, simple and sturdy. “Here it is,” he says. “Your future.”

I grin at Lizzie. “Get on,” I say. “Give it a try.”

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