608 Alpha Ave Read online

  “That you are. You’re a nice one, Garret. But your brother over here can give me insight that you can’t.”

  Garret nods knowingly. “Oh, so you need asshole insight?”

  “Yes.”

  Grayson rolls his eyes. “She needs a real man’s input. She wants to know how we think. Why we fuck the shit outta women like Natalia.”

  At the sound of her name, Garret’s eyes avert to the red-lipped queen at the other end of the bar. “Oh.”

  “Wanna explain that?” Grayson asks.

  Garret looks back at me. He almost looks … sullen. Definitely nervous. “You’re right. Grayson is perfect for the job.”

  I laugh at his expression.

  Grayson gets to his feet and takes his wallet out of his back pocket. It’s brown leather and looks like it’s been through the wringer. He takes out a few bills and slaps them against the counter.

  “There ya go,” he says. “I got yours too, Garret.”

  “Thanks,” Garret says, tipping his bottle back again.

  I bite the pad of my thumb. “So, we have a deal?”

  Grayson grins. “Nope.”

  And out the door he goes.

  Two

  Grayson

  Well, son of a bitch.

  I wait until I’m in the parking lot of Fireside before I adjust my cock.

  “Why do men only react—really react— to thongs and red lips and … and … and long, dark hair that has more body than my actual body?”

  If she only knew …

  “Hey, wait up!” Garret’s voice echoes through the valley. “Grayson!”

  “I hear ya,” I mutter before stopping next to my truck. I turn to see him jogging across the pavement. “What do you want? I have shit to do.”

  “Oh, the hell you do. You’re just being a pain in my ass.”

  I rest my forearms on the side of the truck and wait for him to reach me. Once he does, he’s slightly out of breath.

  “You need to spend more time in the great outdoors and get your ass in shape,” I tell him as he comes to a stop. “That couldn’t have been twenty, thirty yards.”

  “You better remember who you’re talking to. I’m not Haley and half-scared of you and half …”

  He doesn’t finish the thought, but we both know what he was going to say.

  Haley Morgan wants my dick. She’s wanted me since the day we met at Cherry Tree Coffee Co. a couple of years ago. I’m not one of those guys who remembers everything about a woman—I’m not Ed Sheeran, after all—but that day is imprinted in my brain.

  The flush of her cheeks as she slammed into me. The way her bright yellow tank top hung low, debuting a pair of full breasts threatening to spill over the cups of her lace bra. The curve of her hips in her faded denim shorts, and the way her green eyes flashed when they met mine.

  I also, distinctly, remember the feel of her body against mine and the short conversation we had while I was holding her.

  I remember all of that. But what I recall the most is walking away and knowing that Haley Morgan would be off-limits.

  Forever.

  “You better be scared of me,” I tell Garret. “Hell, you can’t even run across a parking lot.”

  He grins as he slings his arms over the far side of my truck and faces me. “I feel like I missed something back there.”

  “Hmm.”

  Garret rolls his eyes. “I know the two of you play this love-hate thing. But if you want Blake Brother Auto Repair to stay in business—and fund your hiking obsession—then you’re going to set that aside, march back into Fireside, and take Haley up on her offer.”

  “Hard no.”

  “Gray …”

  Exasperation punctuates every syllable he speaks and every breath he takes.

  He’s irritated with me. I get it.

  Too fucking bad.

  “I’m not striking up some deal with a woman who’s barely old enough to serve drinks,” I tell him.

  “She’s twenty-one—old enough to serve drinks, buy tobacco, and engage in any adult activity she chooses.”

  I ignore the smirk.

  “And I’m thirty-one,” I fire back.

  “So?”

  He quirks a brow and, suddenly, I realize what I’ve done. I’ve stuck my boot in my mouth. I’ve admitted, without quite admitting anything, that I’m into her. Garret probably knew that already because he’s as nosy as an old maid. Still, I would’ve been better off to deflect it with more finesse.

  I’m slipping.

  I backtrack as fast as I can. “What does she want? To follow me around and pester me with questions about … who knows what? I don’t have time for that shit, Garret.”

  “You better find time. Her offer costs us nothing but some time—”

  “My time.”

  “Your time. Fine.” He huffs. “But there’s no cash involved. If I have to pay someone to help me—because I’m fresh out of ideas, Gray—then that puts us even further into the hole.”

  I hang my head.

  He’s right. I’ve heard him bemoaning all of this to Grant for the last couple of months. Their conversations about increasing revenue and decreasing overhead have been the main topic of discussion for a while now. I tune out, mostly, because the business aspect of what we do isn’t in my wheelhouse. I don’t enjoy it, and I’m not good at it. Give me a wrench, and I’ll take control. But this shit isn’t news to me.

  I sigh as I look back up at my brother. “What about Grace at the Secret Garden Bookshop? I bet she knows someone who could help us out.” I knock on the side of the truck as inspiration hits. “What about someone at the high school? Or college? There has to be some geek that likes making that shit and is looking for a side hustle.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not.” He shrugs. “Either way, it’s more time we’re spending and less money we’re making—especially when we have an answer right here.” He shoves off the truck and stands under the streetlight, pointing back to Fireside. “I saw her mom’s website. It’s good, Gray. It’s better than good. Haley knows what she’s doing.”

  Groaning under my breath, I push off my truck too, and kick at a rock. It rolls across the pavement before coming to a rest near an empty pop bottle that someone should really pick up.

  “You’re obviously going to want this done soon, and I’m busy,” I tell him. “I wouldn’t be able to sit down with her for weeks. Months, maybe. Hell, it could be next year before my schedule frees up.” Never would be even better.

  He ignores me. “Let her come to the shop and follow you around. You can grunt your answers from underneath a truck. You won’t even have to try to keep your eyes off her. It’ll be impossible.”

  I whirl around to face him. “Ever heard of OSHA? That’s definitely a safety violation.” And fucking stupid.

  “Oh, since when do you care about rules, Gray?”

  That’s fair.

  “I don’t know why you’re being a jerk about this,” Garret says. “So, it’ll put you out for a few minutes. Don’t be selfish.”

  I run my hands through my hair and try to avoid his gaze. Garret never asks much of me. He lets me get away with ignoring company meetings and buying supplies that are better quality but higher priced than he would like. I come in late, half-ass my paperwork, and Garret never says a word.

  And when I look up at him, I know he’s thinking the same damn thing.

  He grins a got-ya smile, and my defiance starts to slip.

  “I’m going to be real with you here,” he says. “I’m seriously worried about the future of Blake Brother Auto. With that place in Syn City closing down, we have a shot at not only saving our ass but also expanding. Expanding, Grayson. But if we don’t use this opportunity to our advantage, we might have to let Tristan go.”

  “Shut your fucking mouth.”

  We stand facing each other under the hazy halogen lights. The severity of the situation is written all over Garret’s face and, despite knowing this was an issue, I didn’t know it w
as this level of an issue—not a “let Tristan go” problem. This guy is like a brother to us. He needs us as much as we need him. Fuck.

  I pace around the truck and back again.

  “This is where we are,” Garret tells me. “Numbers don’t lie. I don’t like it either, but we have to face it.”

  “But fire Tristan?” I run my hand down the side of my face and stop moving. “We can’t do that. He’s the best motorcycle mechanic that I’ve ever seen, and he needs this job, Garret. It’s everything to him. Letting him go is not an option.”

  “I don’t want it to be an option, but it’s what we might be looking at if we can’t bring in more revenue. Now, there’s a pool of potential new clientele waiting on us. We just have to hook ’em and reel ’em in.”

  I scowl at his mixing of fishing and work phrases.

  “You can’t expect some miracle out of Haley,” I point out. “Maybe she gussies up your website and makes some fliers or whatever. But that’s no guarantee. We have to think of something else.”

  “I have been thinking. It’s all I do.”

  “Glad to know you do something all day.”

  We exchange a grin because we both know I’m kidding. Garret works as hard as Grant and me—just differently. But, hey, we all can’t be brains and brawn.

  Garret slaps me on the back as he walks by. “I gotta get home. But you need to walk in there and take Haley up on that offer, or it’s gonna be your ass who fires Tristan if it comes to it.”

  “Bull-fucking-shit.”

  “Then don’t let it come to that.”

  I turn back to my truck and yank open the driver’s side door. The seat squeaks as I climb in.

  I start the engine, revving it just enough to feel the vibration in my blood. But instead of pulling out, I pause.

  My sight roams around the mostly empty parking lot until it lands on Haley’s little maroon Mazda.

  The corners of my lips twitch.

  My lord, that woman just does something to me. Anytime I’m in hollering distance of her, I feel myself being pulled her way. Just being near her causes a shock to my system; it makes me feel alive. It’s a high I can’t get from anything else—not fixing an impossible job, finishing a dangerous hike, or sleeping with a woman I met a few minutes prior.

  I should know. I’ve tried all three.

  None of it compares to breathing the same air as Haley Morgan.

  And that’s all kinds of fucked up.

  I don’t get it. I don’t understand how it works. I only know that staying away from her doesn’t help—it only worsens the itch. An itch that she has no fucking idea about. Nor ever will.

  I rest my forearms on top of the steering wheel and sigh.

  If I were a relationship guy, I’d snatch Haley Morgan up quicker than you could say mine. And if I were a complete heathen, I’d have her beneath me even faster.

  But I’m not either—a forever kind of dude, nor am I an utter hedonist.

  So, I’m fucked. Plain and simple.

  I see her every day except the days she doesn’t work at Fireside. Sunday, Tuesday, and Thursday evenings—the days she’s not on the calendar—I hike in the Wild Ridge Mountains to keep myself busy. The other nights, I pretend to love hockey or baseball or what-the fuck-ever is on the television at the bar and sit for as long as I can pull it off without looking like a creep. And she has no clue that I’m only there to be near her.

  She’s forbidden, but as long as I don’t touch …

  “I can’t play this little question-and-answer game with you, Haley,” I say, taking in every detail of her car as if it was her. “I can’t trust me not to grab you and fuck the shit right out of you.”

  As if on cue, I hear her mischievous giggle echo through my ears.

  I grin. “You’d like it, though. I just can’t do that to you.”

  A handful of patrons trickle out of the bar. They pause on the sidewalk as a matte-black Harley roars into the parking lot. Tristan parks near the front door and climbs off his bike.

  My heart sinks.

  He slips off his helmet and runs a free hand through his hair, catching sight of me in the process. His face lights up as he smiles and motions for me to join him for a drink. I wave him off. I can’t possibly sit in there and knock back a cold one knowing that his employment is in my hands.

  Fuck.

  Guilt washes over me as Tristan disappears inside Fireside—and I don’t guilt easily. But he’s such a good guy—the best, really. The idea of having to let him go because we, as a Blake Brother cooperative, can’t figure out how to keep him around really eats at me.

  “Then don’t let it come to that.”

  Garret’s words ring through my brain, amplifying the tightness in my chest.

  I take my hand off the gear shift. I look at Haley’s car and then back to the front door of the bar. As much as I want to go back inside—or, better yet, because of it—I don’t.

  I hit the gas and speed out of the parking lot.

  Three

  Haley

  “I can’t believe you got me to do this,” Kaylee Richards says, huffing and puffing beside me. Her face is beet red from the slight incline of Bride Street. “I don’t do physical activity.”

  “It’s good for you,” I tell her, squinting into the morning sun. “It helps release stress and creates … some good vibes in your brain.” I laugh. “I’m a bartender and romance writer, not a doctor.”

  “Well, I’m pretty sure my doctor told me to get some fresh air at my last appointment, anyway.”

  Kaylee’s face falls. If we weren’t walking at a decent tempo, I’d pull her into a hug.

  Lord knows she needs it.

  “You’re better off without him, you know,” I say quietly.

  She nods but doesn’t say anything.

  “Any man who would leave their wife—especially you—and their child on a whim—”

  “Let’s be real,” she says, her face now dangerously crimson. “Derrick left me—us—for a younger woman. Let’s call it what it is.”

  I cringe and drop my gaze to my sneakers. I’m not that friend—the one who knows what helps soothes these sorts of wounds. But I do know that Derrick was a total asswipe to do what he did to Kaylee. She’s one of the kindest people I know, and the fact that she’s hurting slices my heart in two.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m not good at knowing what to say in situations like these. I try to be helpful, but …”

  Kaylee’s shoulder bumps mine. When I look up, her face is a more normal color, and she’s smiling. At least a little.

  “You, my friend, have nothing to be sorry for,” she says. “You weren’t the vile hussy screwing my husband in the back of his Corolla.”

  “Because I have standards. I’d at least choose a Mercedes.”

  Or a big, black Chevrolet.

  My feet falter as said truck roars toward us. I think in order to make that sound, the driver has to hit the gas hard or something. I don’t know how it works. I just know that when Kaylee and I reach the apex of the hill, and the Chevy comes into view, the engine makes a deep, throttle-y sound that zips right through my blood.

  It might’ve been from the sound.

  And it might’ve been because I know who’s driving.

  A large palm flips up into a subtle wave over the steering wheel as the truck zooms by. I wave, too, before darting my eyes back in front of me, lest I turn around and actually watch him from behind.

  Good grief, Haley. It’s his truck, not his ass.

  Kaylee laughs.

  “What?” I ask, looking up at her.

  “Come on, Haley.”

  “Come on, what?” I twist my lips so I can’t smile. “Do you want to go to Bela’s for a cupcake?”

  She laughs again. “While I do love your affection for cupcakes and find it amusing that you pressured me for a walk today and now offer cupcakes as a distraction, I’ll pass on the dessert … and focus on the reason you’re trying to dist
ract me.”

  My gaze drops back to my shoes again.

  I spent all of last night trying to distract myself.

  I mulled it over—and over and over—trying to decide how I felt about my impromptu proposal at Fireside. Should I be embarrassed? Humiliated? Proud of myself for thinking on my feet?

  Despite hours playing that game, while also playing Mahjong, I came up with nothing.

  I don’t know how to feel.

  It was initiated by desperation. That much is clear. I sat with my manuscript open while I played a game on my phone because I was unable to determine how Casper Jenkins sounded. In my head, he speaks almost lyrically. But when I put my fingers on the keyboard, he comes out gruff. Moody. Difficult.

  He sounds a whole heck of a lot like Grayson, but I’ll never admit that to anyone.

  “So,” Kaylee prods. “Wanna tell me what that flirty wave you just exchanged with Grayson Blake was all about?”

  “I don’t know. A hello? Good morning? A small-town greeting?” I shrug. “Didn’t you wave back? I’m sure he was waving at both of us. Look at you being rude.”

  She grins. “He wasn’t waving at me, and we both know it.”

  I try really hard not to smile.

  “Derrick swore up and down that Grayson had a thing for you,” Kaylee says, smugly. “I thought he was projecting his obsession for younger women onto Grayson, but now I think that maybe he was onto something.”

  “He. Waved. At. Me—us.”

  She wags a finger in the air. “Nope. He was in Cherry Pie Pizza a few days ago, and Rueben Cantal mentioned you—something about a drink you made him at Fireside. You should’ve seen Grayson’s ears turn around. He looked like he could independently control them.”

  “Stop it,” I say, blinking rapidly.

  “And then we were both at Pearl’s just yesterday, and you drove by. Let me tell you that he followed your car with his eyes all the way down Love Lane.”

  “You are out of your mind.”

  We slow our pace as we take a right onto Wishing Lane.

  My head spins with the comments—observations that probably aren’t true or are embellished in her brain—because she needs that to Band-Aid over the hurt in her heart over Derrick. She needs to be wrapped up in some other love story.