Caveman (Wild Men 1)

“Hey, dude, you okay?” Evan taps my feet that are sticking out from under the car. “What are you doing down there? Sounds like you’re dismantling the damn engine.”

“Go away,” I grunt.

“Back to grunting, I see.” Evans leans against the car, all fucking nonchalance, his dusty sneakers level with my head. “I thought you were over that.”

I consider grunting again just because. “Fuck off, Evan.”

“Uh-uh. You’re the grumpiest bastard I’ve ever known. What’s up? Tell your buddy.”

“You ain’t no buddy of mine.”

“But you’re my friend,” he says simply, and it stops me in my tracks.

Jesus.

What is it with this little town in the middle of nowhere that makes people so damn nice? Must be something in the water.

And why is it I got something in my eye and I have trouble swallowing?

“Whatever,” I mutter, and find myself smiling in spite of my foul mood. “Did you want something? Trying to get some fucking work done here.”

“Well…” His sneakers scuff on the concrete floor as he turns. “Octavia’s boyfriend is here. Well, the non-boyfriend.” He snickers.

Anger washes through me in a shocking, sudden wave. “The fuck.”

“I swear to God, he’s standing right across from me. Brought his car for repairs, looks like.”

“And you thought I had to know? See if I’ll come out and punch his fucking lights out? Give you a good show?”

“Nah.” He drums his fingers on the car. “I thought I’d poke the beast. See if I can get you out of that weird funk you’re in. Sometimes a bit of rage helps.”

As if I’m not furious already. Can you cure rage with rage?

But I pull myself out from under the car and climb to my feet, wiping my grimy hands on a rug, and take a look at the guy who’s held Octavia’s hand and ate ice cream with her. He’s all young and skinny and damn girly. Ugly as fuck.

Or he will be, after I’m done rearranging his face with my fists.

“Why are you so mad at him?” Evan fishes out a pack of smokes from his back pocket and offers me one. I take it, slip it behind my ear. “You said it yourself. He’s not her boyfriend.”

“Not for lack of trying,” I growl. “Motherfucker.”

“Don’t tell me you feel threatened by a baby like him.”

I grab the front of Evan’s sweaty T-shirt. “Maybe you want my fist in your face.”

Evan doesn’t look impressed. “So?”

“I don’t like him. Little shit shouldn’t even be allowed near Tay.”

“So now it’s Tay, huh?” Evan wags his brows. “Girl got under your ski

n, didn’t she?”

Releasing him, I turn around and stomp out the back, pulling the cigarette from behind my ear. Because he has no fucking idea.

Evan follows me out, offers me his lighter.

I light up, draw in the smoke, then let it out, trying to release my anger with it. It’s irrational anger, and I know it. That young guy did nothing wrong when he tried to get Octavia for himself.