Salvaged. Jay CrownoverЧитать онлайн книгу.
“You’ve been sitting over here by yourself all night. I thought I would come and see if you wanted some company. It’s never very much fun to drink alone.” She was right. Drinking alone sucked, so did sleeping alone and living alone and doing pretty much everything alone when you were used to having someone by your side.
“I’m Tessa.” She stuck out a hand and I noticed that her fingernails matched the ruby red of her lips. That seemed like a lot of effort to put into catching company for the evening. The most I’d done was put on a clean T-shirt.
I took her fingers in mine and watched as her gaze drifted over the dark spots of grease and oil that seemed to be a permanent part of my skin at this point. It didn’t matter how many times I scrubbed them, parts of the garage were always marking me as a man that got dirty and worked with his hands. She didn’t curl her lip or pull her hand away and wipe it on her very tight jeans. I always considered that a win. “Wheeler.”
Both her eyebrows lifted and a playful smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Is that your real name?”
I grinned back because that was a question I got a lot. I heard her suck in a breath as she watched my face when I smiled. My dirty hands might turn some women off but I’d never encountered one that was immune to my smile. God bless dimples. I’d never understood what the big deal was, but they were the reason Kallie noticed me when she first walked into the wrong class when we were in high school together, so I was always glad I had them. They made the work of going home with a willing woman far easier.
I slammed back the rest of my drink and set the empty glass on the bar in front of me. “It’s my last name.” My auto-shop teacher in high school had started calling me by my last name because there was another Hudson in the class. After a while he’d told me he’d never had a student that was so naturally skilled and adept with cars as I was, so the name became a badge of honor. You couldn’t be a guy named Wheeler and not know your way around all kinds of things that went fast and sounded loud and mean. I’d never had anyone invested in me enough to give me a nickname before. Never had anyone care enough to praise me or compliment me. After high school the name stuck because Wheeler was who I decided I wanted to be. He was someone worth something.
“I like it.” I bet she did. But I bet she liked the way my tattooed biceps flexed under the plain black cotton of my T-shirt even more. I’d started getting tattooed when I was really young. I had more skin that was marked than not. Now that I was single I was finding that women liked the ink and the body it covered almost as much as they liked my dimples. In fact, they liked the way I looked so much I didn’t have to put very much effort into trying to be charming or interesting if I wanted to get them into bed. It made me feel a little queasy when I thought about how superficial and unimportant it all was. I forced another smile to distract us both, which made her sigh.
“Thanks, it gets the job done.” I watched as she sucked on the straw some more, clearly waiting for me to give her some kind of sign that I was good to go. I wanted to be good to go, but the longer she stared at me, the more I silently compared her to the woman that stood in front of me earlier, obviously scared but forcing herself to do something nice for a stranger anyways. There was no question that there was something about the terrified and nervous Poppy that I found charming and endearing. This girl had none of that and it was making everything inside of me slam on the brakes instead of pushing the pedal down to move things along faster.
The empty glass in front of me disappeared and a full one reappeared. “Last one, Speedy.” The southern drawl lost its smooth edge as his gaze shifted between me and the blonde. “You want another one, doll?”
The girl paused like someone had hit a button on a remote that controlled her movements. Her huge fake eyelashes fluttered and dropped in reflex at the sound of Asa’s voice. She’d been so focused on me up until that point she didn’t realize there was other attractive and available dick hanging around. Objectively speaking, Asa was far better looking than I was. There was nothing about him that was difficult or complicated to look at. He hadn’t spent a lifetime covering up his skin in order to keep from being overlooked. There was also none of the edge that I had from being unwanted and left behind that sharpened his gaze. Hell, if I had to pick between the two of us, I would go with the southern bartender myself. He had an easy, effortless way about him that I most definitely did not have. I couldn’t remember the last time anything in my life had felt easy. Plus, he was charming as hell, something I most definitely was not.
“Uh … no. I’m good.” Her painted lips turned up at him the exact same way they had turned up at me and a shiver of unease shot down my spine.
I was tired of being second best and underappreciated. When the blonde turned back to me after Asa moved on to finish his last call, I pushed my untouched drink in her direction and hauled myself off of the barstool. “Last drink is on me. Have a good rest of the night.” She blinked at me in confusion and opened her mouth to say something but I shook my head and walked away from her before she could say anything else.
I really was good at saying no, much better than I was at saying yes. Even after the girl made me feel like a piece of meat, like nothing more than a dick that could be interchanged with any other dick for the night, I still didn’t have it in me to be a total asshole. I didn’t want my rejection or disinterest to hurt her because I was still in the throes of how badly Kallie’s desertion had hurt me. I wasn’t the type that lashed out, which made the fact I’d spilled my guts and dropped all my baggage at Poppy’s feet yesterday super unexpected. There was just something about that beautiful girl with her wounded eyes that made me want to assure her she wasn’t the only one feeling shredded and alone.
It was late fall in Denver, well past the time of year that you could be outside in the dark of night without a coat on. The chill in the air cleared up some of the fog in my head and cooled some of the still-simmering anger in my blood at being disregarded as I walked over to my perfectly restored and lovingly maintained ’67 Eldorado Cadillac. The car was my baby. She was the reason I took shop when I was a teenager and she was the thing that gave me purpose and directed me on the path that would lead to my own business and a way to provide for myself. My Caddy was my passion, the first thing that I’d ever owned that was mine outright, and she was a culmination of everything I’d ever been taught and had learned to apply to something real. There was no way in hell I was getting behind the wheel after a night of drinking. She had a million memories tied to her and I doubted I would be able to recover if anything took them away. I felt like my life hadn’t really had the chance to start until I walked into that tiny, undersupplied garage at Brookside High School and laid eyes on the mangled, dismantled beauty that was the former husk of my baby.
I ordered an Uber and propped a hip on the hood as the cold started to filter through my drunken melancholy. It and the idea of going home to an endlessly empty house made me shiver. I turned my head as the noise from the inside of the bar followed Asa out when he opened the door and did a quick scan of the parking lot. His gaze landed where I was leaning against the Caddy and I saw him let out a breath of relief. He shouted over his shoulder for someone to watch the bar for a second and then he let the heavy door shut behind him. He made his way over to where I was shivering and trying to keep my teeth from chattering.
“I was worried you were going to let the blonde take you home. Didn’t think I had to worry about you taking yourself home when you aren’t in any state to drive.” His breath left little puffs of vapor in the air and he didn’t bother to stop his teeth from clicking together as he rubbed his hands up and down his arms. “I like you, Speedy. Don’t make me take you to the ground for your keys.”
I held up my phone and showed him the map with the indicator that my Uber was only a few minutes away. “Called for a ride. I wouldn’t risk my car by driving drunk.”
He shook his head at me and rocked back on his heels. “You’re worried about your car and not yourself. You need someone to set you straight, Wheeler. I’ve been trying the last few weeks but I’m not getting through.”
I lifted an eyebrow and shrugged at him. “I come by for a drink and the company. I don’t remember signing up for a therapy session.”
He