A Very Venom Christmas - Kristine Allen Page 0,12
no whispered or implied promises of more, and I had greedily accepted whatever he’d been willing to give.
I told myself I was okay with things being that way, but as I stared out my bedroom window, I knew I was wrong. Watching them pull out and take off down the road felt like I was watching my future drive away.
Since I didn’t have my lesson with Ms. Margaret, I took the opportunity to get some laundry done, then went into work. The shitty weather that had been so out of character had disappeared, leaving behind sunny skies and melting snow.
“Of course. You couldn’t have done this yesterday before I wrecked my car, right?” I cursed the blazing sun.
On Saturdays, I did after-hours cleaning. I’d picked up the oil change business next to the bookkeeping office. I planned to use a bit of that extra money to treat myself to dinner and a movie, but I would add the rest to my meager savings. It would have to be put toward getting my car fixed as best as I could. As long as it ran, I’d be fine. It didn’t need to look pretty.
When I got home from work, the light over my back door was illuminating the back stairs. “What the hell?”
There was a note with a business card stuck to my door. The handwriting was bold and scrawled with a heavy hand.
Fixed your light. Come see me tomorrow about your car.
Snow
“The fuck?” I glanced up at the light again, then let myself inside and dropped my purse to the counter. Then I read the info on the business card.
“DS Customs?” I’d heard of them. There was no way I could afford anything they did. They specialized in custom bikes and cars. Not pieces of shit like my old beater. Tired beyond my twenty-six and a half years, I rested my forehead on the top cabinets and fought breaking down.
My phone rang, and I dug it out of my purse. The number was unavailable, but I thought it might be Ms. Margaret calling to let me know she’d gotten settled.
“Hello?”
When there was no one there, I figured it was one of those recorded calls. They always had that stupid delay when you first answered.
I’d wanted to soak in the tub, but I was too tired. I fell into bed and was out like a light.
The next day, bright and early, I was at DS Customs.
“Hello. My name is Loralei Barnes. I was told to stop by about my car?” I asked the guy behind the counter. He had dirty-blond hair and a million-dollar smile. His name tag read Hollywood, and I wanted to laugh at how fitting it was. Who knew that Podunk, Iowa had guys that were prettier than most movie stars?
I needed to get out more.
“Sure, but I’ve got bad news.” He grimaced, and my heart sank. Shit. I knew it.
“Yeah?” My shoulders slumped, and I sighed.
“Well, unfortunately it’s totaled.” Poor guy looked like he seriously hated to have to tell me that. No more than I hate hearing it, buddy.
“Are you sure?” It was a dumb question, but I was at a loss. I had no idea what to say or do. I had no doubt he was right, but damn.
“Yes, ma’am. The airbags deployed. In a car that, um, year, it costs more than the car is worth to replace them.” He was trying his damnedest to be diplomatic about my car being a piece of shit, and I had to fight off hysterical laughter.
My head dropped. I had nothing else. My mind was in tatters, and I wondered what else could possibly go wrong.
“Hang on a minute, okay?” He held up a finger and went into the back. I heard him yell for someone, and then he and another guy came back out front. My mouth had to be hanging open, because this guy was even hotter but in a darker, grittier way.
The sleeves were ripped off of his shop shirt, and his name tag read Reaper, which didn’t surprise me. He had a quiet but dangerous aura about him. Ice-blue eyes held me entranced, and I said, “Huh?” when I realized he’d said something to me.
The blond was covering a smirk with his hand, and the dark-haired guy had a raised brow, waiting for my answer. “I’m sorry?” I asked as my cheeks burned with embarrassment.
“I said that I have a truck I’m supposed to show you.”
“But I can’t….” I trailed off, because it