Page 2 of Britain

“Hell yeah, I did. They’re gonna look sweet. I don’t know what I’m going to do now that it’s all done. I’ve thought about maybe selling her and getting a new project.” But the more I think about it, the thought of selling my baby hurts. “Well…maybe not sell my girl, but I have thought about rebuilding another.”

“You’ve got a gift, baby sister. If you decide to do that, I’ll help you find the right car. You working in the shop tomorrow?”

I have two jobs right now: I work at my dad’s shop three days a week and babysit for Keith and Beth at least two days a week so they don’t have to pay for child care. I’d do anything for them. After all, they let me move in with them, and I pay such a small amount for rent that I’ve got a nice little savings account going right now, plus I get home-cooked meals on the regular.

It’s not like I didn’t have all of that with no rent at my parents’ home, but my mom has been on me about dating and even setting me up with guys, much to the chagrin of my father, and shit, I don’t want to date.

Plus guys aren’t interested in me like that. I’m their buddy, the person they call when they have car trouble, or when they want to complain about their girlfriends and think just because I’m a girl that I know a shit about other girls. I don’t. I mostly hang out with my family and our extended family at the shop.

“Yeah, at least in the morning, because I’ve got ordering to do since no one else can seem to do it without screwing it up.” I bump him with my hip and he grabs me in a headlock, proceeding to give me a fucking noogie. “Owww…stop it, you big jerk, or I’m gonna tell Mom.”

He lets go and shoves me away. I stick out my tongue and then flip him off before heading back down to my place. After brushing my teeth, I throw on my pair of black Vans and grab my wallet and keys—time for a little cruise. I head out the back door and walk around to the front, smiling every time I see my baby.

I climb in and turn her on, and I’m not embarrassed to say that I get a little tingle when she rumbles and purrs as she comes to life. My dad paid for my seats to be reupholstered with the softest black leather I’ve ever touched, Marcus bought me my stereo and new speakers, and Keith helped me rebuild the engine and all of the under-the-hood stuff.

I back her out of the driveway and hit the gas. As I head through town, I see not a lot of people are out yet, but it is Sunday, so people are probably having breakfast before church, or grocery shopping, or doing yardwork.

My family has lived in Masterson, Iowa, our whole lives. Our mom and dad even went to high school together; they were just friends until they graduated, though. Then they got married, had Keith, and then Marcus. I honestly don’t know why they got divorced because they’re perfect together. He won’t say it, but I know my dad only married my real mom because he’d gotten her pregnant.

It wasn’t hard to figure that out when my birth was six-and-half months after their wedding date. My dad swears he doesn’t regret it because he got me out of the deal, and even Sheila doesn’t regret their time apart. She’s always told me that the seven years she and Dad were apart was a good thing, because it gave them both a chance to grow up. And had they not been separated for all that time, then I would’ve never been born. Sheila’s definitely an “always look on the bright side” kind of woman.

I hop on Middle Road and take it out to where it turns to nothing but empty country roads. Cranking my stereo, I hit the gas as Eminem fills the air around me. My baby purrs loudly as the speedometer climbs higher and higher. The smell of wet soil hits me as I drive farther and farther away from my home. Out here, I feel freedom—I know who I am, and the ghosts of my past can’t find me.

After driving around for a while, I head back toward town. I look at the time and it’s ten thirty. The familiar sign with a dog holding a cup of coffee is up ahead, so I decide to pull into the Coffee Hound and grab myself a snickerdoodle latte, my favorite.

Inside there are a few people in the seating area; I pay them no mind and walk up to the counter. “Hey, Jessie.”

The bubbly brunette bee-bops over to the counter. “Hey, Britain. The usual?”

I nod and pay for my drink. I move down to the end of the counter and wait for it. I’m concentrating on my game of Candy Crush when a deep voice pulls me from my game.

“I’ll take a large iced coffee, please.” I watch out of the corner of my eye as he pays. I’ve never seen him before; I would’ve remembered him. He’s tall compared to my five-foot-four frame—at least six-one or six-two. He looks muscular from what I can tell, and he’s broad chested, with the material tight around his biceps. They’re not necessarily huge, just fit…strong. His dark blond hair is short on the sides and a little longer on top—it looks super soft and slightly wavy.

He moves to stand by me and his woodsy scent wraps around me. All of a sudden I’m hot—why do I feel flushed? My tank top feels uncomfortably tight right now. What the fuck is wrong with me?

Thankfully my name gets called and I grab my drink. “Thanks, Jessie. See ya tomorrow.” I turn to walk away and my gaze travels up to meet Mr. Smell Good’s. He’s got the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. They’re the color of the sky on a bright, cloudless day. Bright, cloudless day? What the hell?

He looks me up and down, taking in the hot mess that I am, and rolls his eyes. Of course I’m not surprised by his reaction. I don’t wear makeup and I don’t do my hair. Ninety percent of the time I’m in nondescript clothing, and today I’m basically in pajamas. It still hurts and I don’t get it. I mask the hurt before he can see it and give him the same look, but mouth the word, “dick.”

Karma hates me, because I move around him to make my exit and trip over my own fucking feet. My latte goes everywhere and I hit the ground with a jarring thud. The good-looking dick steps right over me with a chuckle and walks right out of the shop.

A couple of patrons come to my aid and help me up. “Britain, are you okay?” Jessie says from next to me.

She grabs my smashed cup out of my hands and I begin to wipe myself off. Crumbs are stuck to my knees and the palms of my hands…Gross. I bruise easily, so I’m sure I’ll have them on both knees—whatever, everyone is used to seeing me covered in bruises anyway. “Yeah, I’m okay, thanks. God, that guy was such a dick.” I mutter that last part.

Jessie giggles before telling me she’s making me a new drink. I’m grateful for it, and it just shows what amazing people the baristas are here. A few minutes later, one of the other girls has my drink cleaned up off of the floor and Jessie hands me a fresh one. “Here you go, girl.” She leans in. “Yeah, that guy was a total dick.” Her voice is quiet enough that I’m the only one who hears her.

By the time I pull up in front of my brother’s house, my knees are already starting to turn purple. I climb out of my car and make my way around the back of the house to enter in through the door off the kitchen. I hate to think that I’m intruding on Keith and Beth’s family time with their girls sometimes, and no, that’s never happened. I just love living with them and don’t want to ever overstay my welcome.

I sip my drink as I head into my room, flop down on my bed, and turn my TV on. One of my guilty pleasures is watching the train wrecks that are The Bachelor and The Bachelorette. I found the former last year by mistake, and I hate to admit that I was hooked immediately. What can I say? I love the drama. I don’t know why I hide it, but I do. Maybe because I know the boys at the shop, my dad and brothers included, would give me shit.

I have my own cable hookup and DVR—that way, I can record and watch what I want without the grief. It doesn’t take long before I’m lost in the crazy shenanigans…just the way I like to spend a lazy Sunday.

Chapter Two

I pull into the parking lot at the main library in town. Annie screams and squeals from the back seat. “I luv the libwary, Auntie Bwit.”

Her joy is contagious, but how could it not be? Every day I pray that her and her sister are never tainted by what still haunts me. With a shake of my head, I push those thoughts away. They don’t help me—all they do is upset me, and then the nightmares come back temporarily.

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