Right Where She Belongs

Chapter Two

Adrian

"Hi guys!" I chirped as I strode into the garage. Big Mike, as he was infamously known by, was working on an old, beat down truck as Aidan, his trainee, handed him the tools. Aidan looked up and his boyish face lit into a happy grin.

"Hey Adrian. How's it going?" I tried to hide a snicker when he tried to act sexy by placing his elbow on the work bench next to him. His elbow must have been wet or covered in grease because it slid right off, causing him to stumble and fall back, completely ruining his wanna-be sexy vibe. I heard a sickening clang as his head connected to the metal pole behind him and winced in sympathy.

Big Mike on the other hand, having witnessed the whole thing, simply rolled his eyes and muttered, "Amateur," under his breath. Big Mike sent me a brief, terse nod before turning back to his work, ignoring the pained groans of his young apprentice.

On the other side of the shop, I saw Dallas and Sam - The Cousins as I called them since the two were rarely ever seen without the other - scheming away in the corner, mischievous little grins on their face as they huddled around a phone, snickering and chuckling. Dallas was a few years older than his twenty-one year old cousin, yet both of them acted like teenagers. Both were genetically handsome men who sported giant, threatening looking tattoo's all over their bodies. Dallas even had a tattoo under his right eye of a tear drop - the kind that you see on guys who just got out of prison. Sam's tattoo was less obvious than his cousin's. He once teasing asked if I wanted to see it, but seeing as how it was covered by his pants, I was quick to decline the oh-so-nice offer. The effect, overall, were shit scary guys with million dollar will-rip-out-your-heart-and-make-you-eat-it smiles. It made me glad to know they considered me like their baby sister, despite their unavailing attempts of flirting.

The place looked like any other garage shop. Dirty, grease stained floors, car pieces strewn everywhere, and threatening looking guys hacking at metal. Heck, there was even a month old half eaten sandwich sitting on one of the benches which no one touched for fear of contracting a fatal disease.

Man, was it good to be home.

Tossing my previous nerves and worries behind me, I sauntered past Dallas and Sam, shooting them quick smiles before disappearing into the back room which served as Jack's office.

Predictably enough, Jack was seated at his desk, dirty boots thrown up on the disorganised paper work that I would have to handle in a few minutes. The antique table had suffered much throughout the years, and was now standing on its last legs, thanks to Jack's careless abuse.

I placed my hands on my hips and glared at the elder man. No matter that he resembled the bad-boy version of Santa Claus; the man had absolutely no manners. Jack ignored me as he prattled away on his cell, yelling at some man that, no, in fact he didn't give a damn if they paid them double the amount, it would still take a week to fix this or that. I wasn't sure, I zoned out after the third time he said "fucking". Over time, Jack's sailors mouth became less shocking and more endearing - when I wasn't the recipient, of course.

After a good two minutes of cussing out the man on the other line, Jack hung up with a final slam of the phone.

Finally acknowledging my presence, he muttered, "Damned mothers. Good thing I only call her on holidays, huh?"

His mother? Oh jeez.

Ignoring his somewhat alarming comment, I scolded, "Jack, get your damned feet off the table. You may pay me to do this, but there's no way I'm gonna let you make it even harder for me. Now scoot."

Growling, the giant, vicious Santa Claus stood, fixing his pants around his waist. Standing at almost six feet, Jack was no small man by any means. Wide around the edges, he had the sweetest little red cheeks that made me constantly want to squeeze them. I didn't. I valued my life more.