Page 6 of Merry Christmas To Me
Chapter 3
Archer~
The shop was open six days a week, with Saturday being a half day, and thank God. Though I never got her to agree to a date, Sia’s been on my mind since yesterday.
After heading into that walk-in clinic, and subjecting myself to a shitload of blood work just so I could fuck Sia raw when the time came, I’d met up with River for a few drinks at One Shot, a local bar that caters to regulars. Charles was still on his two-week honeymoon, so it’d been a quiet night with River taking off with Penny Lancer and me taking off alone.
And now I was underneath a BMW whose owner had more money than sense. Jeremy Leeds was a senior at Brenner High, who couldn’t be bothered with regular oil maintenance and check-ups. He always runs the car dry, then brings it in for repair.
“I can’t wait until Charles comes back,” Eddie yelled across the garage. “I hate dealing with customers.” Eddie was sixty-two and should have been retired years ago, but he swore he’d go crazy at home, doing nothing. Plus, the man knew his shit. He’s forgotten more about cars than I will ever know in my lifetime.
“What customers did you have to deal with?” I hollered back. “You’ve been hiding underneath that Chevy all week.”
“Clara Thompson caught me coming in this morning,” he hollered back.
I tried not to laugh, but it was hard. Clara Thompson was a sixty-year-old widow, who’s been after Eddie for a few months now. Her husband died about five years ago, and she’s looking for Eddie to take his place.
Clara and the late Mr. Thompson had been regular customers since I opened the shop ten years ago. Harold Thompson had been the one to bring in the cars for maintenance, but once he passed, Clara had taken over the chore.
My shop wasn’t the only one in town, but it was the only one that wasn’t franchised. And because it wasn’t franchised, it was the only body shop that’s taken homemade cookies as payment before. And homemade casserole has paid for an oil change, also, a time or two. However, being a single man, a home-cooked meal sounded like a perfect exchange sometimes. Growing up with shitty parents, I learned how to cook and clean for myself, but sometimes it was nice to have those things done for you.
All my life, my parents have been deadbeats. Malcolm Bentley was a drunk and Laura Bentley was the bitter hag who stayed with him for reasons I never understood. The only right thing they ever did was not have any more children after me. Apart from that, I couldn’t think of one good thing they’ve ever done.
We had lived in a shack of a house, and my determination to not end up like them had been what had pushed me through school and graduation. I’d always known college was never going to be in the cards for me, so after graduating from high school, I had spent the next few years, working my ass off, until I’d been able to put a down payment on my place.
My parents still lived in Brenner, but we didn’t speak. When I first opened my shop, they had tried to guilt me out of money, but when they realized I had no problem calling the cops on my own parents, they had stopped showing up at the shop and bothering me. Nowadays, I might run into them here and there, but we pretended like the other one didn’t exist.
“Maybe if you went and had coffee with Clara, you wouldn’t be in such a grumpy mood all the time,” I teased.
“You’re one to talk,” he shot back. “I haven’t seen you cuddling up with anyone since Kasey.”
I tried not to wince at the sound of her name, but it was hard not to. Kasey Rigley was supposed to have been uncomplicated sex, but it hadn’t turned out that way.
It never fucking turned out that way.
Kasey worked for her mother at their family’s donut shop, and I used to-used to-stop by every Saturday morning and buy a box for the guys. We got to talking, then flirting, then some hookups. But in my defense, before it became a hookup, I had been clear about the expectations. I used the English language and small words and everything to get my point across that I had only been looking for casual and fun.
No relationships, whatsoever.
Kasey had agreed, and had sworn on a stack of pastry napkins, that she wasn’t in it for a relationship either. Fun and easy. Simple, right?
Wrong.
So, so, so very wrong.
Soon, I was getting texts about where was I and who was I with. Soon, I was getting calls about plans she’d made with other couples, and I was expected to attend. And then, just like that, the sex wasn’t casual and fun anymore. I’d had to pull the plug on it when I’d seen a couple of pamphlets for birth control choices in her purse.
Growing up, my biggest fear had been becoming a loser like my parents. And because of that fear, condoms had become a must. I hadn’t wanted to accidentally get someone pregnant before I could carve out a decent life for myself. I hadn’t wanted to end up a poor and bitter disappointing to my child.
It never mattered how many beers I drank or how many times the female in question promised she was protected, I always used a condom. The habit was so obsessive, the condom was always in my hand even before my pants came unbuttoned. Blowjobs were the only exception.
And after the shop was up and running with some significant success, well, I just haven’t met the woman who made me want to get to know her outside the bedroom. Granted, that could have a lot to do with the crowd I ran around with, but it was just easier to get laid by women who you knew wanted the same thing.
And I never brought them home.
I lived above the shop, the duplex having originally been two separate apartments. But over the years, I’ve converted it into one big apartment. I had a master bed and bath, two spare bedrooms, an office, a kitchen, living room, and instead of completely demolishing the second kitchen, I had gutted it and turned it into a gym. The sink counter area and refrigerator used for drinks and or protein shakes.
And because this was both my home and my business, I didn’t bring women back here. I’ve seen women scorned and the sight was fucking scary as hell. I didn’t need them to know I lived just upstairs from my shop. I didn’t mind replacing a few broken shop windows, but I didn’t need some lunatic taking a match to the entire thing, hoping I’ll burn to death in my bed upstairs.
