That Kind of Girl (Fillmore & Greenwich Book 2) (4 page)

"Not yet." But it would.

"It needs TLC all the way around," Alex said, shaking his head. "It's a disgrace that such a beautiful creation is so neglected."

"The body's not too bad." She circled around it again. Okay, it was kind of bad. Mostly rust, but also a few large dents where the bike had been dumped.

Alex bent down, putting his hand on the ground for balance. "It needs a new tailpipe."

"Maybe."

"Still, it's a beauty."

"Yeah." Poppy had had good taste.

"Hunter S. Thompson said, 'If you rode the Vincent Black Shadow at top speed for any length of time, you would most certainly die.'" Alex glanced at her. "They only made seventeen hundred of these."

"Yeah."

"Jesus"—he whistled—"this had to be expensive."

"Yeah."

He faced her. "I want to work on the body, okay?"

She blinked in surprise. "You can do it?"

The look he gave her was withering. He ran a hand along the motorcycle before he wandered back to the Honda he was working on.

It'd been like magic that Alex had shown up when he did. Since she'd need extra help if she wanted to grow her business, Sebastian had suggested hiring another mechanic. She hadn't even started looking when Alex showed up, asking if she was hiring.

So far, he was perfect: he didn't talk much, he was punctual, and he didn't complain about her tango music. He was a solid mechanic, too. Poppy would have loved him.

She hadn't been sure how she'd feel about having someone in her space, but Alex was pleasant. More than anything, she trusted him. She had the feeling he wouldn't say or do anything that he couldn't back up. Plus, it was nice having someone to man the shop when she had to step out.

Like now, she thought, glancing at her watch. She strode toward his bay. "Alex, keep an eye on things while I go out for a bit."

"Yep," he said without raising his head out of the engine.

"Thanks." She washed her hands and headed out the door to In Vino Veritas.

Her friend Bronwyn owned the wine shop. Bronwyn sold a wide assortment of wine, if Italian wines were your world. The year before, she'd added a few seats and tables so the shop could double as a wine bar. It was popular, which was saying something because Bronwyn had a very particular way of doing things.

Sebastian was already seated when George walked into the store. She joined him, nodding at Bronwyn, whose head poked out from the back. "Hey."

"Hey, yourself." Sebastian smiled at her. "How's paradise?"

She shrugged; she didn't need to get into her feelings of dissatisfaction. She knew Sebastian well enough to know he'd see it as his responsibility to fix her. The problem was, she wasn't sure what she had could be fixed.

Sebastian sat up, looking at her askance. "Is Alex working out?"

"He's great."

"Then what's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong. Everything's just great." She frowned. "You said you found an artist for the mural."

"I know you're trying to divert me, but I'll let it go because I'm excited about this." He rubbed his hands together. "He's a popular muralist who's done paintings all over the Bay Area, including Google San Francisco."

She made a face, thinking of the bank account she'd depleted with her Black Shadow purchase. "He sounds expensive."

"He was interested in the project and is going to cut us a deal." Sebastian grinned happily. "It's all coming together. The new furniture should arrive in a couple weeks, and the designer is going to come and arrange it and the new artwork for the waiting area. The mural should be done around the same time, so I was thinking we should celebrate."

"Celebrate how?"

"A party," he said with enthusiasm. "A launch party, to show off your new image and how great the shop looks."

"I'll provide the bubbles," Bronwyn said as she came out from her back room carrying a box.

George blinked in surprise. "Free?"

"Of course not." Her friend looked at her like she was insane. "I only give free wine to people who pleasure me in bed."

"Well," Sebastian said, standing up and clapping his hands together. "That's my cue to go."

Bronwyn frowned at him. "You haven't had anything yet."

"I'm kind of scared to now." He winked at her and then faced George. "A party will be fun, and it'll give us a chance to celebrate the new you. What do you say?"

She twisted a strand of hair from her ponytail, trying to imagine it. Only she couldn't because she was the same old George, and that bothered her way more than it should have.

That was silly, because she loved working on cars. She shook it off.

Sebastian must have sensed some of it because he put his hands on her shoulders and said, "It'll all work out. You'll be happy making the garage your own, and you'll want to flaunt it. Trust me."

"I trust you." She just wasn't sure she trusted the changes.

"Good. I'll set a date." He dropped a kiss on the top of her head and then arched his brow at Bronwyn. "You know I'm going to negotiate the wine down to cost, right?"

"I know." Bronwyn flashed her evil grin. "And you know I'm going to let you do it, after I have my own fun, right?"

"I know." He chuckled and then strode out, hands in his pockets.

They both watched him leave. "Ariana lucked out with that one," Bronwyn said. "I wouldn't mind having one like that."

George thought about the stuffed animal menagerie Bronwyn kept in her flat, particularly the purple elephant. Not that her friend liked stuffed animals—Bronwyn used them to scare men off. "Not even Sebastian would be able to get past meeting Mr. Giggles."

"Mr. Giggles is awesome," Bronwyn protested, getting out a box cutter.

"He is, but you talking to him in a baby voice is weird."

"He serves his purpose." Bronwyn shrugged, taking out a bottle. "So you're really having a party."

She slumped in the seat. "Looks like it."

Bronwyn pointed the box cutter at her. "Based on the look on your face, it's going to be exciting."

"Or something," she mumbled as she slid off the stool. "See you later."

"Okay." But then Bronwyn focused her attention on the exit. "I'll walk you out."

"I'm pretty sure I can find my way out."

"Yes, but I want
him
to find his way in."

George looked out the window to see Pete Melville, one of the firemen from the station across the street from her garage. He carried two cardboard drink trays of coffee cups. She shook her head. "Aw man. Tell me Pete's not your next target."

Bronwyn frowned, but she didn't slow her stride. "Do you want him?"

"Pete? No way." He was hunky—as evidenced by the fact that Bronwyn was interested in him. He was also smart and nice, but George wasn't into him at all. He was too blond-California-surfer for her tastes. "But you don't want him either. I thought you liked Aaron."

Bronwyn's expression clouded at the mention of their yoga instructor, her lips taut. Then she adopted a deceptively relaxed expression and said, "I like to be open to all possibilities," as she opened the door to intercept Pete with laser accuracy.

George rolled her eyes and followed. Someone had to make sure Pete made it out alive.

Unsuspecting, Pete smiled when he saw them. "Hey, guys. What's up?"

Bronwyn's gaze rolled over his uniform like she was plotting a way to strip him out of it.

George rolled her eyes. "I'm having a party. You're invited."

"Awesome."

"I'll be there, too," Bronwyn purred.

"Cool." He smiled his million-watt smile, raking his wavy blonde hair away from his face. He lifted the coffee cups in his hands. "I better get back. The guys are waiting for these. I'll see you guys around."

They both watched him leave. George shook her head at Bronwyn's hungry look. "I don't think he'll take to Mr. Giggles. Pete looks more like a lion sort of man."

Bronwyn shrugged. "His loss."

Remy backed his motorcycle between two parked cars and killed the engine. He eased off the bike and removed his helmet to take a look around.

So this was Fillmore and Greenwich.

He wasn't impressed.

There were a cluster of little stores that seemed to amount to nothing. A yoga studio, a wine bar, and a couple of other strange shops. Around the corner, he could see a fire station.

The auto repair shop was hidden on the other side of the street. He'd made sure to drive by it before he parked.

He ran a hand through his hair. This was a fool's mission. What did he even hope to accomplish here? What was wrong with him that he couldn't find a partner to dance with on his own?

But he hadn't, and he had no idea what to do with himself.

"Remy."

He turned, recognizing the voice.

Max bounded toward him, wearing with the same goofy smile since they'd met on the first day of college. Max hadn't changed at all since then; he still had the rangy build that promised to fill out but never did. The light in his eyes said the world was his oyster.

However, Max hadn't lost the person he loved most in the entire world. He'd have a different outlook if he had.

"Dude, why are we meeting here? The marina is weird, as evidenced by that eyeglass shop with the Barbies hanging in the window. Did you see it? How they're strung up? It's criminal," Max said, his voice escalating.

Apparently Max's fondness for Barbies hadn't changed. Not that he played with dolls—just doll-like women. Some of them also had the IQs of plastic.

Max pulled him into an enthusiastic embrace. "It's good to see you, buddy. I can't believe you finally made it out here."

"I can't either." He'd been all around the world, but he'd never been to San Francisco. He slipped his helmet on his handlebars. "Where are we headed?"

"I thought we'd get some juice." Max gestured at the helmet. "Is that going to be safe there?"

He shrugged. Since Giselle's accident, he threw caution to the wind. He unzipped his leather jacket and began to walk, knowing Max would get distracted. "When did you start drinking juice?"

"Dude, juice is all the rage. Why chew your salad when you can sip it through a straw?" He motioned to turn left at the corner. "Grab that table. I've got this."

He couldn't care less about juice, so he didn't argue. He took the seat that allowed him a view of the corner of Fillmore and Greenwich. On the left, there was a run-down house with a gold neon sign that read PSYCHIC. Although he couldn't see it, he knew the other side of the street was home to the car repair shop owned by the woman he was going to proposition.

"Here you go, buddy." Max set a bottle with bright green liquid inside in front of him.

Remy picked it up and studied it. "You drink this?"

"It's delicious, man. Try it. I got you the tropical one because I know how you feel about pineapples. It's not everyone who gets a pineapple tattoo just because he likes eating them."

Remy rubbed the inside of his bicep, where he had the ink. He'd gotten it in Hawaii, on his and Giselle's honeymoon. She'd said the drawing looked as happy and sunny as she felt, and that seeing it would remind them of the sweetness they'd share forever.