Joy Ride
I laugh harder. “Woman, let me tell you — I’ve learned. I’m not trying to solve it for you. And I’m not offering you a job with me.”
She blinks, confused. “You’re not?”
I make a flubbing sound with my lips, then I point to the night sky. “Tiger, you’re well beyond working with me. You’re not an apprentice. You’re not a mechanic. You’re not even a lead car builder.”
“I’m not?”
I shake my head and set my hands on her shoulders. “Five years ago when you were my apprentice, you were the most talented person I’d ever worked with. Now, you’re still the most talented person I’ve ever worked with. You told me this afternoon that you might not have a job and that you also wished you could have come to me for advice, right?”
She nods, waiting expectantly.
“And in the past, I didn’t get to give you that advice, because I let my attraction for you get in the way of clear thinking. I didn’t teach you as best I could. I didn’t guide you at the end. But I’m going out on a limb, and I’m going to do it now.”
“Do it then.”
I stroke my chin, collecting my thoughts. “The way I see it, you were ready to do a deal with John. You were going to buy into his business, right?”
She nods. “I was.”
“I’m presuming that’s because you wanted, understandably, to have access to his network and contacts in this city.”
“Yes.”
“But what have you accomplished in the mere few weeks you’ve been with him? You’ve landed Livvy as a client, and you got the Bugatti guy all on your own. Am I correct?”
A smile tugs at her lips. “That’s correct.”
“Plus,” I say, raising a finger to make my next point, “I’m pretty sure the network guys wanted you to help build the Lambo for the show. Not him. Am I right?”
“Yes, but that was partly because they wanted us,” she says, motioning from her to me.
“Partly, but it was also because you and me—we’re the top two builders in this city. Not John and me. You. And. Me.” I don’t care if that sounds cocky. It’s fucking true.
She stomps her foot. “Max, I appreciate it. I truly do. But I need to make it on my own, not because my boyfriend is the king of New York.”
“And you will be the queen.” I place my index finger on her lips to shush her. “It’s time, Henley.”
“Time for what?”
“It’s time for you to open your own shop. You don’t need John. You don’t need his contacts. And you don’t need me to succeed. If you were going to buy into his business, you’ve obviously got the money to start a shop. And you already have a few key clients. What you don’t have is someone to tell you that you can do it. So, I’m going to be that person. And I want to show you how much I believe in you.”
She knits her brows together. She parts her lips, but she can barely speak. Something like “what?” comes out of her lips.
“I believe in you. I know you can do it,” I say.
“But what about us? We’d be competing even more directly than we are now. I thought you found it distracting?”
I scratch my chin. “Funny thing. I realized the most distracting thing was not having you. I’m not distracted from work now that you’re mine.”
She laughs in disbelief. “You’re not distracted anymore?”
“I was distracted because I didn’t know how you felt. I was distracted, wondering if you liked me.”
“You idiot. I was crazy about you.”
“You hated me.”
“Because I wanted you. Loathing you was the only way to deal with it.”
“And then loathing turned to love. But my question for you is this—are you going to be okay being the chick car builder who’s banging Max Summers on a regular basis?” I ask with a laugh, repeating her one-time words.
She wags her finger at me. “No. I’m going to be okay being his girlfriend. I told you, I make an excellent girlfriend.”
“You do. And you make excellent cars. So I also bought you what any self-respecting, professional car builder needs to run her own shop. It’s the big-ass Snap-on Mammoth tool set, and it’s waiting for you.”
And she shrieks.
Roger has nothing on her.
Her own orgasms have nothing on this scream.
I’m surprised someone doesn’t call the cops.
Quickly, she covers her mouth. “Are you serious?” she asks through her fingers, her eyes wider than moons.
“This tool set,” I say, waving at the one on her steps, “that’s just to whet your appetite. At my place you’ll find the five-foot high, ten-thousand-dollar kit that has every tool you’d ever want.”
“Hammers?” she squeals, and I nod. “Wrenches?” Another nod. “Screwdrivers? Gear pullers? Pliers? Hand sockets?”
“Everything.”
She leaps on me. I nearly tumble into the railing. But I steady myself, and I hold on to the woman in my arms. She’s wrapped around me like a monkey, and she’s planting kisses all over my face.
“I did good, huh?”
“You did so good. I can’t believe this,” she says, and now she’s crying again, but these tears are tears of happiness. “You really think I can run my own shop?”
“I know so.”
“I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
“I love you so much I want to skip the mac and cheese and go see the tool set at your place.”
I arch one brow. “That sounds more like you just want to pet the tools.”
“Oh, I do. That’s what I meant. I just wanted it to sound like it was about you,” she says, laughing.
“You can make me mac and cheese another time.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Or the next night.”
“Or the next.”
But tonight, I take her back to my place, and after we eat some sandwiches and a cinnamon roll, and she paws the tool set with the same kind of excitement she showered on my tub, I get her in the bath.
She insists we use the Peach Dreams bath bomb, and that works just fine for me. I don’t care if I smell girly when I’ve got this woman in my arms, lavishing me with kisses and so much love.
But we don’t get it on in the tub.
C’mon. That shit is hard. That’s a recipe for banged elbows and bonked heads. Not to mention, it’s really hard to go down on a woman when she’s underwater. The same applies for blow jobs.
So I dry her off, carry her to my bed, and I make love to her all night long.
In the morning, we go to work.
Epilogue
Several months later
* * *
Henley’s pad was decorated in ruby red, fuchsia pink, and dove gray. Her fridge was slathered in magnets with stylish images of women in vintage dresses holding martinis and kittens with captions like “I don’t know how to tell you this, but you don’t have a hamster anymore.”
Her coffee table was covered in framed pictures of her friends, her sister, her brother, and the rest of her family. We visited them in California recently, and they grilled me, making sure that I was the right fit for her. I’m pleased to report that I passed. Her couch was a comfy cranberry-red one, and it’s been donated to Goodwill, along with some of her other furniture. She said good-bye to her bed, but she’s keeping the comforter and all the pillows. They’ve found a new home on my bed, which is now our bed.