Taking Mine (6 page)

Kaley and Lance are sitting on a couple of stools, out of the way of the pool tables. Judging by the amount of shot glasses lining their table, they're well past the point of tipsy. Lance wraps an arm around her waist as she flies off the stool in our direction.

“Lilly,” she draws, arms raised high above her head. “Where'd you go?”

I look at Lance. “We were barely gone for fifteen minutes. What happened?”

Kaley uses her fingers to shoot an imaginary gun at me, then Justin, laughing when he pretends to be wounded.

“We may or may not have wagered a minor drinking game with our table.”

“Minor? She can barely stand.” I sniff one of the glasses. “Did you give her tequila?”

Lance's face sobers. “Why? She's not allergic, is she?”

“Let's go. We're lucky she still has clothes on.”

Kaley throws an arm around my shoulder, causing both of us to lose balance. “We own,”

she slurs.

Lance shakes his head. “She only had two shots. I took the brunt of the work. I swear I'd never have let her get this wasted if I had known.” He replaces me, better competent to withstand her weight.

“She can't do tequila. It does something to her.”

Once we're outside, Justin asks us where we parked and I point in the direction. Lance does his best to shuffle Kaley along. She's now silent, on the verge of passing out. He gets tired of her feet dragging and cradles her. There’s a throb in my hand, and I clench my fist to try to relieve it. I'm focused on the sound of our feet shuffling when I hear Justin huff out a breath. I look and find him staring at my fist, smiling. He sees me and immediately straightens his features.

“Can you explain to me what the actual fuck is funny about you getting into a fight?”

Lance looks over his shoulder. “You got into a fight?”

Justin rolls his neck and side-eyes me. “Not me,” he says. “Lilly did. Although, it was more like doing someone a favor. He wanted it.”

“I didn’t have to give in,” I say.

“He wanted it, Lilly. Probably some form of self-punishment or some shit.”

“And what does that say about me? Willing to be the person to dole it out?” I can't meet his eyes when I say it, feeling slightly disappointed in myself. He doesn't respond.

I direct Lance to a stop when we reach Kaley's BMW, and she's sound asleep in his arms. I attempt to dig through her pockets, looking for the keys. Lance shifts her around, trying to help while keeping a good grip on her. I check all of her pockets twice before I conclude that they're missing. Somewhere between doing tequila shots and shooting pool, they must have slipped out.

“I’ll run back and see if I can find them or if someone turned them in,” Justin says.

People don’t turn in lost items around here. If it’s gone, it’s gone, and it’s not coming back. I wouldn’t be surprised if someone swiped them right out of her pocket, hoping she’d ditch her nice sports car here for the night. But I let Justin go anyway. He seems to like playing the hero card. When he returns empty handed, I’m not surprised in the least.

“It’s okay,” I say more to myself. “Can you just give us a ride?”

“What about her car?” Lance and Justin both look around at the state of the neighborhood and abandoned buildings.

“I'll call a tow.”

Lance sidles up against the car, trying to find a comfortable spot with dead weight in his arms. Justin jogs off in the direction of where he parked as I dial the first person I can think of.

“Lilly, do you know what time it is?” Dan's voice crackles through the speaker, barely a whisper.

“I'm sorry. I know it's late and you've got work in the morning, but I need a tow.”

“Is everything okay? Did you get in a wreck?”

“No, no,” I hurry to reassure him. “It's Kaley's car. She lost her keys and it's parked by Blackjack's.”

He says my name and I can tell he really wants to say no. He's silent on the other end of the phone as I casually rethink the probability of something happening between now and morning. I'm scanning my vicinity when the '69 Mustang catches my eye. It's parked illegally. It’s as if the universe is telling me to steal it. Really, the douche bag is asking for it. I double-check that Lance isn't in hearing distance when I reply.

“What if I tell you there's a Mustang Fastback sitting behind the bar?

This catches his attention. “What year?”

“Your favorite. And it's the original engine.”

He cusses before responding. “No way. No one would be stupid enough to bring a car like that to the west bank.”

“Well,” I say. “You'd have to meet the owner to believe it.”

“I almost hate having to dismantle something like that,” he says, sighing. “I'd have to call Ethan in to help.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Yeah, I'll be there in a few.”

“I'm getting a ride home with a friend. Drop Kaley's car off in the employee parking lot at the shop.”

We hang up right as Justin pulls up in a brand new Jeep Wrangler. Justin hops out and folds his driver seat forward.

“This is going to be fun,” Lance says, looking at the small space he needs to fit Kaley through.

“Give me her feet,” I say, climbing into the back.

Justin helps Lance, passing her feet through the door. One of her heels nearly pokes me in the eye, so he pulls off her shoes and drops them on the floorboard. Lance bumps his head trying to gently lay her down across the back seat with her feet in my lap.

“Alrighty,” he says, feeling accomplished once she’s in unharmed.

“Where to,” Justin asks, cranking the engine and looking at me in the rearview mirror.

In all honesty, I barely know Justin or Lance. Giving them directions to where either of us lives doesn’t sound like a wise idea. I'm tempted to tell him to drop us off at Toby’s, but I look down at Kaley's sleeping head nestled against the door and decide against it.

“I suppose my house is closest.”

I live on the outskirts of the city, close to the west bank, but it’s still considered to be more rural development. Our neighborhood is scattered with nice refurbished homes, and the working class who can barely maintain the color of their shutters. Kip and I fall somewhere in the between. Our house is a small brick home with one bathroom that's a bitch to share.

The lights are on when we pull up. I cuss.

“What's wrong?” Justin asks.

“My brother’s awake.”

He and Lance trade glances.

“He's protective. I don't bring boys home.”

Together they help me extract Kaley with as much grace as possible. I catch our door, holding it for Lance as he carries Kaley into the living room. “Just put her on the couch.”

He lays her down, cradling her head as he deposits her. I position her feet on the edge and cover her with a blanket. She jerks away from my touch, sitting up so fast it scares Justin and me back a step.

She leans to the side, hands wrapped around the hem of her shirt. “I'm so hot,” she says, already working the material over her head.

“Hold up,” I say, straightening her body.

“We should probably get her some water,” Lance suggests.

“Good idea. Glasses are in the cabinet next to the fridge.” I throw him a nod in the direction of the kitchen.

I glance down the hall—Kip's bedroom light is off. He may have left the lights on for me.

“Whoa!” Justin closes his eyes, turning away from Kaley’s direction.

I turn and find her standing—in nothing but her underwear. Only a strip of cloth covers her bottom.

“I feel so much better,” she says, stretching her arms over her head.

It's this most opportune moment that I hear Kip come in through the kitchen door and find Lance pouring a glass of water.

“Who the fuck are you?” I hear Kip say.

“He's with me,” I yell from the living room. “He's a friend.”

I wrap Kaley in the blanket and usher her down the hall and into my bedroom. She throws herself belly-first onto the bed and passes out immediately. Thankful I don't have to attend to her, and I hurry back to the front of the house. Kip's face is blazing red, trained on Justin and Lance standing in the living room. Lance has a glass of water in one hand and a bottle of Tylenol in the other.

“Who are they?” Kip demands.

“Lance,” I say, taking the items from his hands and setting them on the coffee table. “And Justin.” I stand between them. “They're friends from school.”

“Since when do friends from school come home with you in the middle of the night?”

I bristle at his tone, hating that he has the nerve to Dad-mode me in front of them. “Since Kaley got shit-faced at the bar, lost her keys, and we needed a ride home.”

In proud Lance fashion, he has the ability to act like Kip's not practically foaming at the mouth in front of him. “Let me introduce myself,” Lance says, taking a step forward. “I'm Lance and this is my best pal, Justin.”

Justin follows through and says, “I assure you our intentions are pure, only wanting to make sure Kaley and Lilly made it home okay. Nothing more.”

Kip looks to me and I raise my eyebrows in response.
Yes, you're a total asshole
. “I'll walk you out,” I say, already opening the front door.

“Nice to meet you,” Lance says.

Justin nods, smart enough not to push Kip too far.

“I'm sorry,” I say when we reach Justin's jeep.

“Seems like a nice guy,” Justin says.

Lance smiles. “No worries. Got out unscathed. Mission accomplished.”

“Thanks so much for helping. I don't know what I would have done without you two.”

“We take payment in beer, kisses, or anything of monetary value. We'll send you our bill.” Lance blows me the same kiss he did when we first met, and I laugh.

“I'll be sure Kaley gets it. I'm all paid up on my best friend duties.”

“See you at lunch on Friday?” Justin leans his forearm against the steering wheel. “The cafe?”

“Sure,” I say.

“Let's roll,” Lance says, banging the roof of the Jeep. “I have a date with some ice cream and Netflix.”

They leave and I'm left standing on the sidewalk, dumbfounded by the night's events. Seemingly out of nowhere, I've found that I've gained two new friends, one of whom I'm absurdly attracted to. It irritates me that I'm so mesmerized by him, especially because tonight he proved he's got as much of a temper as any other hot head out there. It was in my honor, but still.

TAYLOR MOTIONS FOR ME
to enter his office, now back to its immaculate state, thanks to moi. He's more subdued than normal, only giving me a tentative smile as I sit across from him. I assumed he called me in for the money we made on the Cheville, but it's not looking promising.

“What's up?” I ask.

“Dan gave you a tow last night?”

“He did.”

“He said you're the one who tipped him off on the Mustang.”

“I did.”

“It didn't occur to you that someone who drives a car like that into the west bank is up to no good?”

“I—”

“He works for Jimmy,” Taylor says, cutting me off.

Oh shit.

“Jimmy? The guy we did some up class orders for a couple of years ago?”

“Yeah, the kid Dan lifted the car from works for him. I got a call this morning asking why we were attempting to sell one of his worker’s cars back to him in parts.”

A pinch of fear shoots through my chest. “What are we going to do?”

He leans forward and steeples his chin on top of his hands. “I managed to talk him out of retaliating.”

He doesn’t have to elaborate on what exactly retaliation would be for me to understand that it’s not good. Kip and Taylor both have protected me from the harsher reality of the life we live. Don’t get me wrong, I get the gist of it, but I’m not consumed by fear, and it’s probably because I’ve never had to deal with the logistics.

“With conditions,” Taylor continues. “He wants the car replaced. Whether we put it back together or buy a new one, it has to be replaced.”

“Fantastic,” I add dryly.

The thing about putting a car back together is it’s just not feasible. It’s possible, but it takes a lot more time and effort than it does to take it apart. Then you run the risk of not getting something quite right. Something will tick a little differently than before. Essentially, an engine could run forever if the parts are replaced periodically, but it’s not that simple.

“Considering it’ll be easier to sell the parts and buy a new one, we’ll still come out ahead, so he wants the profit.”

“That’s not that bad.”

Taylor sits forward quickly, placing both palms face down on the desk. “I don’t think you quite understand the missile we dodged. Jimmy is fair, but even I’d unleash hell if someone did that to one of my employees. Imagine if someone did that to you, Lilly.”

That’s irrelevant because Kip makes me drive a piece of shit Honda, but I don’t voice this. “You act like I knew the asshole worked for him. I figured he was another rich kid wanting to redeem his badass card and start a fight.”

“You can’t commission Dan to lift a car for you because you’re pissed off at somebody, Lilly. That’s not how this works.”

I roll my eyes. “Because that exceeds our moral standards, but doing it for money doesn’t?”