The First Taste (Slip of the Tongue #2) - Jessica Hawkins Page 0,82
his arm, admiring the fine dark hair. “It’s the other way around. I didn’t go to business school. I’ll be divorced at thirty-two. I barely talk to them or my niece and nephew because I’m so swamped with work. It’s not exactly the conservative Texan way my sister went.”
“You’re from the South?”
“Yep. I think they hoped I’d move home at some point and marry a nice, upstanding lawyer, doctor or banker . . . like Reggie, actually.”
“Don’t tell me they were fans of his.”
“My mom loved him before she’d even met him. I should’ve known then it was doomed. When I told her I was leaving him, she nearly had a heart attack.”
“Because he cheated on you?”
“Lord, no,” I say. “That’s not an excuse to leave. It’s an ‘opportunity.’ She thinks I should identify how I’ve neglected my husband and step up as a wife.”
“Fuck that,” he says.
“Yeah. Exactly. Fuck that.” I follow it up with a sip of Glenlivet. The words taste just as good as the whisky. “She would hate you.”
He laughs. “Blue collar mechanic from New Jersey with an illegitimate child, a motorcycle, and tattoos? Can’t imagine why.”
“That’s not what I see.”
“No?” he asks, nuzzling my cheek. “What do you see?”
I pause. “A loving father who takes control of his life. An artist.”
“I’m an artist?”
“I think you are.” He is, at least, a work of art, his inky black hair, his skin a parade of vivid imagery, his muscles as sculpted and perfected as a masterpiece. I may have called him a mechanic our first night together, but his garage is clearly important to him, and if he treats cars like anything else he loves, I’d bet he brings a certain artistry to his craft.
“What about your dad?” he asks.
“My dad doesn’t care for Reggie. Thinks he’s slimy.”
Andrew sighs deeply. “Dad knows best, young lady. You should always listen to your father.”
I smile. “He didn’t tell me until after Reggie and I were done. I guess my mom made him bite his tongue. He’s not without his disappointment, though. Education is his thing. I was supposed to go into business.”
“You are in business.”
I put on my best dad voice. “‘Fashion is frivolous’ is what he always says. At least I went to college, so I haven’t totally let him down.”
“NYU?”
“Parsons, majoring in fashion marketing. I took a PR internship knowing I wanted to start my own firm as soon as I had the experience under my belt.”
“I always knew I wanted to do my own thing too. I’m not cut out for the corporate world.”
“How’d you end up with a garage?”
“My grandpa was huge into cars. My dad is a bum, but not his dad. He worked for a guy who owned a garage, and they taught me everything they knew.”
“Does your grandpa help out with Bell?”
“Never met her, sadly. He died young from a heart attack, but I kept going to the garage. I skipped college to work and save money. When Gramp’s friend was ready to sell the garage, I had enough to make a serious offer.”
I knew Andrew was smart, but I didn’t realize how ambitious he was. I never stopped to ask how he ended up with his own business. I can picture him picking up extra hours while his friends wasted time at college. “I have to admit,” I say, “I find that pretty sexy.”
“A high school-educated mechanic does it for you?”
“You’re doing better than a lot of people.”
“I can’t disagree there. Love my job, and I get to spend every day with Bell. It’s a good life.”
I glance at our tangled legs through the melting bubbles. Dark versus light. I wonder, since Andrew has worked so hard to make the life he wants on his own, if it were even possible for someone to come in and make it any better. That isn’t any way for me to think. I bend my knees and extract myself from his grip.
“Where are you going?”
“Nowhere. I have a surprise. Close your eyes.”
“What could you possibly give me to make this night any better?” he asks, but when I look back at him, his eyes are shut.
I stand to reach a drawer with a box of cigars my dad left behind during his last visit. I cut one with a guillotine, light it, and put an ashtray on the edge.
“What the hell are you doing?” he asks. “Was that a lighter? Should I be worried?”