Which was why I also chose a sleeveless cutoff tee that barely reached the top of my jean shorts.
I followed the outfit up with my old pair of sneakers that I keep to work on my car. Fuck running in them. I snatched up my car keys before heading out the door.
I was throwing my hair up in a bun when I got out to the parking lot and headed for my car.
I was wholly unsurprised to find Moran in the parking lot leaning against my car.
If I hadn’t needed my car, I would’ve just turned around and walked the opposite way.
However, I did need my car.
So I got up to it, didn’t acknowledge the woman that was leaning against it—luckily on the passenger side—and unlocked it.
When I was inside, I locked the door again and started it up.
I was satisfied when the bellowing peel of the belt filled the space around us, causing Moran to jackknife out of her casual lean against my car and stare at me with anger on her face.
Like I was the one that actually made it squeal and scare her.
The absurdity…
Using her anger and distance from my car to my advantage, I pulled out of my spot.
I’d started to back in when the Truth Tellers had first entered my life.
I’d witnessed them all back in, everywhere they went, no matter what. And I’d adopted the habit.
It had proven to be great, especially for situations like the one I found myself in now.
It being a Saturday, I treated myself to some donuts on the way to Webb’s, and made sure to get enough to feed an army in case some of Webber’s crew was there working.
When I arrived it was to find Hush the only one there.
He was also working on a pretty sweet looking short bed, square body Chevy.
He was leaned deep into the engine, his arms flexing and tightening as he used what would be my guess of a ratchet, when I pulled up.
My face flamed as I turned the car off and got out.
“Timing belt?” he said.
“I know,” I confirmed. “Would it be okay to use y’all’s shop for a bit so I can change it?”
His brows rose. “You know what’s wrong?”
“Yes,” I said. “My grandfather, and sometimes even my dad, taught me everything that I might need to know about fixing cars. I’m not fluent in anything over two thousand and eight, though. That’s when the cars started to get smart, and we’d never been affluent enough to be able to afford the newer cars, and my dad doesn’t work on anything after that time.”
“Your dad is a mechanic?” he asked.
“When he wants to be,” I answered. “When he doesn’t have someone to support him and he’s forced to work.”
That was what he did.
He married, had his wife support him. When that wife got tired of supporting him, and not getting any help around the house, she’d kick him to the curb. Then he’d start the process all over again with the next chick.
He had twelve marriages, and eleven divorces under his belt.
I imagined that it wouldn’t take long before Webber’s ex decided to kick my dad to the curb again. Then he’d be back to working in his shop, which he made sure to always have it remain in his possession after the divorce.