Page 61 of Detour

I tell Marc to meet me out back, however, ignoring my wishes, he follows me through the building, hot on my heels all the way to my Jeep.

“What’s his deal?”

I turn to see Joe watching from the window. Sighing, I tell him the first truth today, “I don’t know.”

“He looks pissed, like someone shit in his double roast beef sandwich.”

I eye Marc skeptically. “Double?”

“Look at him.” Marc unabashedly waves a hand in Joe’s direction. I grimace but play it off as a squint. The sun is bright. “His sweat looks like it’s a step below that pink slime shit from butcher shops.” Eww. Actually, now that I think about it, it does. “Dude’s arteries are probably working overtime.”

“Maybe he’s just hot?”

Marc pins me with a hard stare, making me regret I even said anything.

“Maybe he’s a fucking scumbag.”

Well, I can’t argue with that.

With a shrug, I shuffle the keys. “Thanks for helping me. I know we don’t know each other very well but Coty-”

“Coty’s my boy. If he needs something from me, it’s done. Period.” He pauses. “He thinks you need saving.”

I peek up at him. “Let me guess, you don’t?”

A moment passes where neither of us says anything.

Marc takes the keys from my wavering grasp. “Is this thing going to make it to the shop okay or am I gonna have to Flintstone my ass the whole way there?”

“Umm.”

I can’t. I can’t do it. Lies may not make your nose grow but they sure as hell make your conscience shrink.

“Watch your back tonight.”

His eyes bounce over to Joe again before landing on me pointedly.

Shit.

I wait until he’s gone then reach up to feel my nose, wondering if it grew after all.

* * *

Luckily, by the time we switch off the sign for the night, Coty’s Camaro is already backed into an empty spot. Some of the tightness in my stomach loosens when I see him there, waiting patiently. Without telling Joe, I go out to give Coty my bag and let him know I’ll be a while. He assures me he’s got all the time in the world making me glad he’s here. Even though it felt like jumping from a cliff without knowing what was waiting at the bottom of the dark water by asking him for help, it still felt safer than swimming with a hungry shark—a shark with pink slime sweat no less.

Upon entering the office Joe starts in with the fifth degree.

“Who’s that? A boyfriend of yours?”

Tracking my movements as I gather the tools needed, he crosses his arms over his chest.

“He’s my ride. Car trouble.”

“I could’ve taken you home. This isn’t a place for dates.”

I scoff. Loudly.

“Well, he’s waiting for me.” I meet his eye, hoping he hears what I’m not saying. “If you don’t mind, I’m just going to knock this out and get out of here.”