Two Years and Five Months Later
I PULL UP outside my car workshop, kill the engine, and glance out of the window at the white rendered building. A stroke of luck meant I managed to buy this place cheap. It’s in a nice area, but the structure was a shit-hole. With a little elbow grease and a lot of work, I turned it into my idea of what a car workshop should be. It’s classy but practical and modern, smooth lines but with a little attitude—like the perfect woman, but I’ve learnt there’s no such thing.
I get out of the car and can already hear the loud thump of rock music pouring through the air. I shake my head. Spud. He’s worked with me from the start, nearly six years ago, and he’s a good friend as well as my family. It was with both Spud and Bear’s help that this place opened on time. I’ve got a reputation that precedes me in both the field of cars and ladies. Luckily the one for cars is fantastic and earns me a pretty penny. The one with women, not so much. Although saying that, I’ve been offered a few quid in that area too, but I’m not doing that shit. If I’m going to fuck a woman, it’s because I want to, not because I’m being paid.
I stroll into the workshop and spot Spud working in the engine bay of a black Camaro. He’s oblivious to my presence as he concentrates. I take a few seconds to appreciate the car’s curves. It’s gorgeous. I never thought there would be much call for mechanics dealing with muscle cars in the UK, but I surprised even myself by making a go of it. It’s not like we need hundreds of cars coming through a day, so with the one or two restorations a month, plus the general stuff, we are busy enough.
“Bloody hell, Spud, can’t you turn that fucking thing down?” I yell at him, but it barely registers above the radio. It must be at one hundred and twenty decibels, and I’m surprised the neighbours haven’t been around yet to complain.
His shoulders hunch. “You’ve just walked in, mate. No need to jump down my throat.” He’s giving me his, ‘I’m pissed’ voice, and hasn’t looked at me yet. Instead, he walks over to the radio and turns it down a few notches. Spud’s driving me insane this week. He’s as moody as a woman when the monthly painters are in, and twice as bitchy.
“Okay, mate, but what the hell is wrong with you? You’ve been behaving like a spoilt little shit all week.”
He turns to look in my direction. “If you’d pull your weight around here instead of going off shagging everything that moves, my mood might fucking improve.”
Okay, he’s got me there. I’ve slacked off all week. Burning the midnight oil is messing with my livelihood. I need to sort my shit out, but I’m not going to let him know that.
“Hmm, well, if you’d had whatever the hell her name was lips wrapped around your cock, your priorities might be a little different as well.”
“Yeah? I’d also be getting a fucking divorce. I’m sure Cait would love to hear your explanation of why I had another chick’s mouth wrapped around the family jewels.” He leans back against the counter and his blue eyes glare at me.
Spud and Caitlin have been together for nine years, married for two, and are currently expecting baby Spud number one in a few months. I think Caitlin must have gone through the whole sex crazed, shagging your brains out period of the pregnancy that Spud was raving about and now she’s providing him with a drought to rival that of the Sahara.
Although it’s not something I really want to think about.
“Well, tell that wife of yours to do something about it then, because you’re being a real bastard.” I know as soon as it comes out of my mouth that I sound like a complete tosser. But it’s out there, and I can’t take it back.
“Fuck off, Noah. And that’s your sister you’re talking about.” Spud’s fists clench at his sides and his nostrils flare. I’ve crossed the line bringing Cait into it, especially talking about her in such a crude manner. I need to salvage the situation before getting a torque wrench justifiably lobbed at my head.
“So, what’s the story on the Camaro?” I ask, hoping to distract him from wanting to maim me.
Spud glares at me for a few more seconds, making sure I understand his feelings on me running my mouth. He takes a deep breath, looks at the ground, and gives me the ins and outs of the Camaro’s troubled life. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice what I presume is a customer lurking at the door. I hope to God she didn’t hear our conversation.
Note to self: be a little bit more professional when in the workshop. Get your mind on the job and not on last night’s conquest. Feeling like I have suitably chastised myself, and blatantly ignoring Spud, I turn around and pretend I’ve just noticed her.
“Hi, can I help you with something?” I raise my voice so she knows I’m talking to her.
The woman takes small, tentative steps towards me, “Er, I’m looking for Noah.” She stops about two feet in front of me.
“Well, you just found him, love. What can I help you with?” She looks a little skittish so I thrust my hands in my pockets, dip my chin, and rock on my heels. I feel like a little kid, but it makes me appear less intimidating. At six two with a shaved head, piercings, and a full sleeve of ink, I need all the help I can get in the theoretical office; out in the bars and clubs it’s a different story.
“Oh, hi. I’m Layla.” There’s a pause so I look at her for a second or two waiting for her to carry on, but she’s looking at me like I should know her.
I feel like a right bastard, but I’ve got to ask who she is. I just hope to God I’ve not shagged her because that would make me feel like a bigger dick than I already do. She’s quite beautiful, so I’m sure I would have remembered, but you never can tell. With fingers mentally crossed, I go for it.
“I’m sorry, do I know you?” There, I said it. Now I’m waiting for World War III to commence.
“I’m Lizzie’s friend. You probably know me as ‘Boo.’”
Fuck. Totally not the answer I was expecting. I feel like The Rock has just come and body slammed me, winding me, and leaving me gasping for breath. I’m completely floored.
I’m quick to gather my senses, hoping my weakness for Lizzie hasn’t just been on display for the whole world to see. Men like me don’t have weaknesses, they can be used against me, and I’m not letting anyone have that ammunition.
“So, what can I do for you, Lizzie’s friend, Layla?” I can’t believe I’ve managed to squeeze her name out of my mouth. Three years later and that shit is still as painful as the day I walked away from her.
I thought it would heal over time, the hurt, the emptiness, the regret, and I gave it time but all that stuff is still lurking within me. I tried to drown the evil life-suckers out, but other than nearly turning into a raging alcoholic and coming close to losing my business, that was about as much use as a chocolate teapot.
When that failed, I tried shagging my way out of it, a different face, different body. Actually, I’m still working on that stage, and up to this point I can guarantee wholeheartedly that shit isn’t fucking working either.
“I know you don’t know me, only know of me.” She looks down towards her shoes, and her fingers pick nervously at the skin around her nail beds. “I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for what’s happened.”
It’s obvious something’s wrong, but I could be being played, and it wouldn’t be the first time.
“So?” I shrug my shoulders forward trying to urge this raven-haired beauty to get out what she actually came here to say.
“Look, I don’t know who else to go to with this. In all fairness, it could be nothing. I don’t even know why I’m here. Lizzie would kill me.”
She’s talking in riddles, and I have the feeling I’m going to have to shove my hand up her arse to do a ventriloquist impersonation if I’m going to get any information out of her.
What the hell am I thinking? I should just throw her out on her arse. Lizzie has caused me enough pain to last a lifetime and whatever she’s pulling now I want no part of.
“It’s very nice to meet you and all, Layla, but I haven’t spoken to Lizzie in three years. She upped and left, so whatever you have going on, you need to find someone else.” I’m trying to keep my face blank, when all I really want to do is open my mouth and let out the loudest rip-roaring growl. Does this woman have any idea what her words are doing to me? My mind flashes back to when Lizzie was first telling me about Boo.