Run to Love (Triple R Book 1) (3 page)

But maybe someday I’ll have a real collection of bikes
.

“How was your first day?” Kanyon asked after a long swig from his fancy beer glass.

“Good. What are you doing Friday night?”

“Why?” he asked suspiciously, like I was already asking him for a favor and he wasn’t sure he was that invested in our friendship yet.

“I’m not asking you out on a date, dude.”

Kanyon chuckled at my retort, but crossed his arms.

I leaned forward. “There’s this girl that works at Triple R—Emerson—beautiful but annoying as fuck. Emerson’s the daytime front desk staff and I need her to be on my good side so she keeps sending me new clients. She asked me out this weekend, but I don’t want to get that kind of chummy with her. She got it out of me that I bartend at Two Fine and she’s going to show on Friday night. Wondering if you could make an appearance to be a buffer between us to keep the night professional?”

“She’s beautiful, huh?” The wheels turned in his sandy-blond-hair-covered head, his green eyes narrowed in on me.

“Yeah, early twenties, five foot five, blonde hair, gigantic blue eyes, well-shaped body, decent rack, and a bountiful booty to match her bountiful bitchy attitude.”

He smirked at my assessment.

“But the right guy could probably fuck the bitchiness out of her,” I added to pique his uncommitted interest. 

“Nice, bro.” Kanyon shook his head.

I shrugged my shoulders in a non-apologetic way and drank a long swig of my beer.

He sighed. “All right, I’m in. Don’t have any plans, and I like Two Fine Irishmen. Good food, decent beers, I’ll show. Considering my current predicament with Moriah, I can’t promise my bitch-exorcism skills are working. Don’t expect miracles, fair?”

“Fair.”

We ended up eating dinner and having a couple more beers before leaving. I left alone. Kanyon left with the cute girl-next-door waitress, which totally confirmed he had no set type of woman. Unless
willing
is a type.

I walked in the front door of the duplex and heard noises from Zane’s room. Noises no brother should ever have to hear. A tiled bathroom insulated out the sound between our bedrooms, but the noise carried under his door and echoed into the living room. In the middle of his five days off, Zane and the girls next door had been “talking trains” the last two nights. I’d think he’d be exhausted. I would be.
But he seemed to thrive on the … personal attention.

In the kitchen, I filled a glass with water, and Ninja jumped off the top of the refrigerator onto the counter.

“Hey, Ninj, you’re not supposed to be up here.”

He did his best to purr an apology. Talking to the cat made me think of Presley. Maybe she’d like to meet Ninja sometime.

“Just don’t let Zane see you, he’ll yell … at me. Did you go see Sheba next door today?” I trailed my hand down his rail-thin back and long tail. “Did she find out your secret?”

Ninja decided I asked too many personal questions. He tightroped the edge of the counter to the breakfast island, making use of one of the stools as a pouncing-off point to the chair in the living room.

“Hey, I’m going to bed and I’m closing my door so I don’t have to hear that.” I nodded over my shoulder at Zane’s bedroom door. “You in or out? I’m not playing the ‘let’s see how many times I can make Jude get out of bed’ game tonight.”

Ninja curled up on the black leather chair’s ottoman and sent me one last “bite me” glare. I chuckled at his apathetic attitude and hit the hay myself.

Ninja woke me up four times during the night to come in and then go out and then come back in and then go back out of my room.

Chapter Three

“Good morning, Presley,” our general manager, Charlie, greeted me as I scampered through the door ten minutes late.

“Sorry for the late show, Charlie.”

“No problem, figure there’s a traffic issue. Drexel and Sam aren’t here yet either.”

I cringed. Just hearing the name Drexel had my skin crawling. Drexel Mason was my biggest competition at the auto mall. Always first loser to his first-place finish every month, I knew this month was shaping up to land me right back in the same pitiful category.

In my office, after putting away my lunch, I turned my attention to the referral slips on my desk. One benefit of being the only female salesperson was the front desk staff tended to treat me right. It didn’t get past me that they were all female and treated just as shitty as I was by the male-dominated sales staff. I’d become pretty close with a couple of the girls. Didn’t hurt that I brought coffee and low-fat blueberry muffins once a week for the morning girls, and an arrangement of chocolate-dipped fruit as an afternoon snack for the afternoon/evening girls. I’d discovered how to grease a squeaky wheel … and it wasn’t with WD-40. Soft fluffy morning pastries and dark chocolate-dipped fruits—that’s what made the wheel squeak-free.

I lifted the stack and it felt heavy … like really heavy. I counted the slips. Six? Six referrals?

I almost felt guilty. This could put me over Dixless … I mean Drexel. “Dixless” is what Willow named Drexel in an attempt to support me in my never-ending professional pain. Screw it!
He was an ass to the staff, and by this amazing gift, I imagined yesterday evening he was a bigger asshole than normal.

I did my standard background work based on the information written on the cheery yellow slips and phoned each referral. Three out of the six set appointments to come in for test-drives that day. I put in orders for the desired cars to be washed and readied. With the other three interest slips, I left messages on the contact number, praying to get a return call. I e-mailed the contact info, too, just in case they didn’t check their voice mail. By noon, everything was set for the test-drives, and my confidence was solid.

The first couple test-drove a used Camry during their lunch hour. Nice car, fully equipped, zippy … yada, yada, yada. It was clear that the car would be the woman’s so I played to her. Asking general life questions, I found out she was an artist. Ah-ha! Something we had in common. The revelation bonded us quite well, and they agreed if nothing else piqued their interest, they would be back tomorrow. A good feeling rolled through me.

The second referral to show mid-afternoon was a young, single guy. I listened to Garrett on the phone, and he said he wanted something brand spankin’ new and sporty, although my gut told me he was a bells-and-whistles guy. Especially after he recited all of the upgrades in the Mustang Club of America Special Edition Package faster than I ever could. However, the client was always right—to start with—in my book. There was no use arguing over the phone. My job was to get him here then work my magic.

I moved the requested Ford Mustang GT to the front. Garrett rounded the car with little enthusiasm. We settled in for the test-drive, and he tore off, sending rocks orbiting into the atmosphere. I laughed and joked about his lead foot, but I was guaranteed flak from Charlie about the excessive wear and tear and potential liability factors when we returned. After the immature stunt, Garrett still seemed unimpressed. I told him I had something that would be a better fit, if he’d just trust me. He hesitated but agreed.

I drove back to the dealership to save the sports car from further damage, and walked him to a slightly used but priced better-than-new, fully loaded to the hilt, BMW 335i. I rattled off the list of upgrades and special features the car possessed. It was amazing that the feat of auto engineering didn’t time travel. I almost added that feature to see if Garrett was listening, but I didn’t. I could tell he was enthralled by the way he rounded the bright red car and a smile illuminated his face.

The smile.

He drove. He bought. That car sped away. Zero to sixty in 4.6 seconds.

Later, I was waiting in my office for the third test-drive appointment to arrive, when Drexel rounded the doorway. If he weren’t such a jerk, I’d think he was hot as hell. An all-American look with vibrant blue eyes, styled wavy blond hair, and perfect white teeth. A fine representation of what the Heartland had to offer in a long and lanky body.

“Hey, Miss Perfect,” slid off his slimy tongue.

I rolled my eyes and pretended to gag.

He chuckled through his words. “I just wanted to let you know that while you were out with Beemer-boy, your college sweetie came in and I took care of her. Hope you don’t mind. You don’t, right?”

Every hair on my body stood. This wasn’t the first time the still-a-frat-boy-at-heart had stolen a potential sale from me. Complaining about the steal would do me no good. Charlie would listen, but “The customer needs to be helped immediately” would be his mantra. And the sales manager, Trent, was in a bromance with Drexel, so he was less than useless.

Don’t think this is over. And watch your back, I’m out for blood now.

I kept my reaction in check. “No problem. Did she end up with the economy car she needed?”

“No, I convinced her to get a full-sized. Didn’t take much … I just gave a wink and she was putty in my hands.” His gaze made a trail to my chest and then back up to my eyes.

I ignored his obvious eye-mauling. “Drexel, she is just out of college. She needs a fuel-efficient car because she’s going to be a traveling nurse.”

              “Sorry, sweetheart, just part of the business. Plus, I got an eight thousand dollar up sale.”

“Drexel, you need to think more about our customers and what they want. And not about your wallet.”

He flattened his hands on my desk and leaned forward. “Well, you know, it’s not the size of the wallet, it’s how a guy uses his line of credit.” His eyebrows flashed at me.

This was a typical Drexel Mason encounter. For the past two years, he had acted like an ass around me … and
to
me. Drexel was simply distasteful and completely boorish and totally immature.

He added, “I’d be glad to let you abuse my line of credit, Presley.”

“Get out.” I stood and pointed at my door.

“I was just kidding, geez, you can never take a joke, Miss Perfect.” He raised his hands all fake-offended.

“Drexel, out of my office. Now!”

He finally stepped backward toward the door. Before he moved into the hallway, he lowered his voice and wore a lascivious grin. “I love it when you get all worked up, Presley. I can imagine that’s how passionate you are in bed. Maybe someday—”

“Out!”

You’re a giant swine boy!

After Dixless retreated, I cursed for a minute to remove his foulness out of my head, only to replace the memory of him with other foul thoughts. Damn!

The third referral ended up being his anyway. Recovery was still possible. He didn’t know about the final three referrals. Diligence and extra attention would ensure those three referrals would pan out. I would work my magic.

And I know what I need.

I texted Willow.

Prez:
Bad/good day. Have sweet tart martini ready, please.

Willow:
Will do. Anything else? Need some B Cooper or J Depp tonight?

Prez:
Johnny please … I need to be Depp’d badly!

Willow:
LOL. Me too, dear, but I’m afraid both of us will be Depping ourselves tonight :-(

Prez:
Ewwww!

Willow:
I know you do it. The walls are thin … very thin.

Prez:
Ewwww again! I’ll be home in an hour.

Willow:
I’ll have the S.T.M. ready to be chugged and extra AAA batteries waiting. <3 u

Prez:
LOL. You are a true friend. <3 u 2

Willow was the closest thing I had to a sister, and I considered her my closest family member who didn’t match any part of my DNA. She listened to all my Dixless problems, and I think she plotted to poison him by luring him with her female wiles to some fancy tainted meal. 

I called the three remaining referrals one more time and rattled off another sincere personal message of my interest in helping them to find the perfect vehicle. There was a fine line between interest and badgering, but thankfully, I’d never been accused of the latter. After finishing up some paperwork and powering down the computer, I headed out to face the last of rush-hour traffic.

At home, Willow stood right inside the front door with in one hand, my purple and green tartan plaid lounge pants and a ratty I Love NY t-shirt and fuzzy green socks. In the other hand, she held my bright-blue-colored martini. I stripped at the door and crawled into the comforting clothes. Willow and I were way past the embarrassed-to-see-each-other-naked phase.

“So tell me about your day.” She examined me from head to toe like I should have visible bruises or scars if my day was that bad.

The tangy and sweet martini danced on my palate. I plopped on the couch with a thud to give her the highlights. Willow snarled and appeared to be thinking up ways to give Dixless a few bruises and scars in addition to poisoning him. I calmed her down to just under furious with a promise to talk to Charlie about his behavior before we ate the quiche and salad Willow made, while I enjoyed a second sweet tart martini.

The next news might upset Willow, but she would want to know anyway.

I cleared my throat. “So I didn’t get a chance yesterday to tell you, Mitch was fired from Triple R. And before you ask, no, I don’t know why.”

“What? He didn’t call me.” She tipped her head and her face tightened. “And I didn’t sense anything was wrong, but that’s not new … whole love-block thing.”

Mitch and Willow dated for about a year when we were seniors in high school. He was her first boyfriend, love, and lover. They stayed in touch and sometimes they still touched each other. She assured me they were only compatible in the sack, but I wondered if she didn’t still hold a little place in her heart—her eccentric and wildly unique heart—for him.

She lifted her phone from the sofa armrest and texted, I assumed, Mitch.

“So, did you workout on your own yesterday?” she asked.

“No, this new trainer rescued me from the front desk piece of work while I was trying to get an appointment to talk to Blake.”

Willow groaned. “Emerson?”

I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, she made some, I think, rude comment that I didn’t catch when I tried to give him a chance to back out of training me on the fly. He told her he couldn’t think of anything he’d rather do than help me.” I ingested a long drink of my martini. “It was kind of sweet,” I added, holding the glass to my lips to hide my smile.

Willow opened her mouth wide. “Oh! My! God! Prez!” She accented each word with a pop of her eyes. “You like him!”

“I do not.”

I kind of do.

“What’s his name?”

“Nope. Not going to offer his name up so you can use him in one of your perverse sexual fantasies.”

“Fine. I bet you twenty dollars that you’ll be Depping yourself to his mental image and screaming his name tonight.”

I smacked her arm lightly. “Ewwww! Unlike you, I have control of my sexual appetite.”

Considering I didn’t get that many opportunities to satisfy my appetite, I’d grown accustomed to savoring sex when the magic happened. Two boyfriends in the last nine years, each one lasting about the length of a calendar year before we fizzled. The first took my virginity, the second my Xbox 360. And that’s not a euphemism.

The first boyfriend was nice. The second one was like Satan on cocaine. Even though it’d been over a year since a casual one-night stand that ended up only ho-hum, I didn’t think I was ready to hum again with anyone … yet.

But Jude, with his long silky strands of sable-colored hair that I could slide my fingers through, his long, perfectly trimmed sideburns that I could imagine grazing against my nipples, his incredibly tanned, muscular body that could be written about in books, and his amazing hazel eyes that I could envision looking down on me while we made love … well, he made me question my need for a good hum. However, past experiences taught me that men could look one way and act another. It was a fact that had left a sour taste for getting to know the opposite sex. Maybe it’s time to have a sample taste again? Not all men are alike, right?

“Earth to Presley …
Presley
!” Willow yelled loud enough to make my ears ring.

“What? What!” I snapped away the scandalous thoughts with a shake of my head.