Don't Kiss the Bride

I nod at my new kindred spirit. “I feel the same way. Like, I don’t mind dating someone, but I’d rather leave it as a free-will arrangement, like when you work for someone. You can quit anytime; they can fire you anytime. There're no promises, no legal ties, no two-week notice, no expectations. You’re free to go when you want. No hard feelings.”

“Yes. Exactly all of that, Sparkles. Couldn’t have said it better myself. Your parents divorced?”

“Yup.”

“Mine too. That’s a hell I never want to experience again.”

My parents’ divorce was quiet and uneventful. Dad just left. There weren’t any screaming fights or drama that I can remember. They didn’t fight over custody, or furniture. I doubt either of them had an affair, even though they’re both decent-looking people. I’m not sure if my father pays alimony or child support. As far as I know, they just signed the papers and that was it. Marriage over. The only evidence they were ever together is my existence, which wasn’t magical enough to make them fight to get better. To make it work. To think—or even worry about—me.

Jude comes into the dingy office of the auto shop with me. I assumed he’d just drop me off in the parking lot and leave, but no, he walked me inside, waited while I shelled out five hundred and ten dollars in cash onto the dusty counter, then walked me to my car in the back lot. He eats the three chocolate chips cookies from the bag as we walk.

“These are delicious.” He’s practically drooling over the cookies. “How do you not eat these all day long?”

“I’ve never had one, to be honest,” I admit as I wiggle my key into the driver’s side door lock. The thin layer of dust that was on my car when it was towed is gone, and I wonder if the mechanic took it through a car wash.

Jude’s gray eyes blink at me. “Are you kidding? How the hell can you resist these? They’re all soft and buttery and gooey.”

Because eggs. That’s how.

“I’m just not big on sweets.”

“Start it up,” he says, leaning against the hood. “Let’s make sure it starts before I take off.”

The engine turns over with its familiar, yet comforting, deep rumble.

“Yay!” I exclaim, clapping my hands. “I missed my baby.”

He comes around the open door and kneels next to me, peering inside at the cracked, red vinyl seats. “I’ve always loved ’vettes, especially the older ones like this. I wanted one wicked bad when I was your age.”

“You should get one.”

He runs his hand over the ripped armrest, and I’m sure he sees it like I do—not for the condition it’s in now, but for how it’ll look with some love.

“Maybe someday.”

I stare at his tattooed hand caressing my car door. Sterling-silver rings wrap around two of his fingers. One with an onyx stone, the other a knot of twisted metal. They’re tarnished and dinged up, not polished and perfect.

Like him.

Like me.

Licking my lips, I inhale a short, nervous breath. “Hey, do you want to go for a drive? I mean, you drive. My car. With me.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I don’t have anywhere to be.” Except to stop by Megan’s, but I can do that later.

My breath pauses as he chews the inside of his cheek for a few seconds, until a big grin blooms on his face.

“Fuck it,” he finally says, standing. “Why not? That’s an offer I can’t turn down.”

Smiling, I tell him to get in as I climb over the console to the passenger side.

He’s like a little kid behind the wheel. Grinning excitedly as he pushes the seat back and adjusts the rearview mirror.

“Listen to that purr,” he says wistfully before he puts the car in gear and heads out to the main road.

The word purr coming out of his mouth is sensual, almost secretive, as if I wasn’t supposed to hear it.

“That’s not the stock radio, Sparkles,” he says teasingly, touching the volume dial. “I’m a little disappointed.”

I laugh. “Trust me, I am, too. But I just couldn’t drive it without listening to my favorite music. RingPop put this in for me. He got me a deal since he works at a car stereo place. Don’t worry, I saved the original.”

“RingPop?”

“He used to live next door to me. We’ve been friends forever. When we were like seven years old he proposed to me with a ring pop candy.”

Jude laughs. “Very cute.”

“It gets worse. I started licking it and it came off and got stuck in my throat. I choked on it until I couldn’t breathe. I legit thought I was gonna die. He kicked me in the stomach and I coughed it up.”

“Holy shit. I guess that explains your aversion to sweets, then?”

Actually, that’s not why. But I nod in agreement anyway.

“I’ve been calling him RingPop ever since. He moved to a different town last year, but we still hang out once in a while.”