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SLATER
“ Y o, douchebag.”
Recognizing the voice, I set the wrench in my hand down, then use my remote to turn off the music as he walks into my garage. As he sets the bag in his hand down on the workbench, I pull a rag out of my pocket and wipe away some of the grease on my fingers before shaking his hand. It’s still a little grimy, but Derek doesn’t seem to care.
“What’s up, dickhead?” I reply.
Derek Kelly has been my best friend since we were kids. He’s like a brother to me. Fuck that, he’s closer than a brother to me. He pulls a beer out of the bag and hands it to me. As I twist off the top, he pulls one out for himself and cracks it open.
“Thanks,” I say and tap my bottle against his.
“No sweat,” he replies. “How’s the restoration going?”
I turn and look at the 1973 Boss 351 Mustang and frown. It was my father’s car, and he left it to me when he died. But it hasn’t been on the road and needs a lot of work. I’m completely rebuilding the engine myself, but I will have to send it out for a little bodywork and paint. He’s been gone for about ten years, but I still miss my dad, and doing the work on the car—something he and I did when I was a kid—makes me feel closer to him.
“It’s going,” I tell him. “I should have the engine done in the next month or so. After that, I send it out to get the bodywork and paint.”
“And after that, you’re going to have a sweet ride.”
“Damn straight,” I say and take a swallow of beer. “So, what’s up with you? You good? You all set for your trip?”
“I’m good,” he replies. “And yeah, I’m pretty much ready.”
“Looking forward to it?”
“Kind of. I’m a little nervous, though.”
I scoff. “Sack up, man. Don’t be a pussy.”
He chuckles. “Yeah, yeah, yeah.”
“Dude, seriously. You’re a great teacher. What do you have to be worried about?”
“Going to another country to teach this seminar? It’s stressful.”
“I’m sure it is. But you got this, man,” I tell him. “Students are the same there as they are here. You know your stuff. You’ll be great.”
“I wish I had half as much confidence in my abilities as you do.”
“That’s why I’m telling you to sack the fuck up, brother. Believe that you’re going to be great, and you will be great.”
He chuckles. “And when did you get to be such a paragon of optimism?”
“Me? I’m not. I’m just looking forward to a couple of months without you, so I need to pump you up so you don’t pussy out and come running home with your tail between your legs.”
Derek laughs. “You’re such an asshole.”
“Damn right, I am,” I reply. “Seriously though, you’re going to be great over there. Those kids will be lucky to have you.”
“Thanks, brother.”
I tap my bottle against his again in a show of brotherhood and solidarity. Derek leans back against the workbench and takes another swig of beer.
“Hey, listen, I keep forgetting to ask, but while I’m gone, do you think you can fix the shower and toilet in my apartment?”
I nod. “Yeah, no sweat.”
“Sorry,” he chuckles. “It still feels weird to ask.”
I wave him off. “Dude, you’ve been here for three years. You need to get over that shit. Fixing shit around here is my job.”
“I know, but?—”
“It’s my job,” I repeat. “Don’t sweat it. It’ll be good as new when you get back.”
“Thanks, man.”
“Not a problem.”
In addition to the Mustang, my father left me his budding real estate empire. I took up residence in The Pacific Winds, a building of high-end condos with an unobstructed view of the ocean. My dad left me three more buildings that are nice, but they’re a little farther inland. I prefer waking up, rolling out of bed, and catching a few waves before I start my day. And my day is usually taken up by needy tenants who have one problem or another that needs to be addressed.
I don’t mind it, though. Not really. I enjoy working with my hands. But between my duties as a landlord and my gig as a guest bartender around town, I don’t have a lot of free time. That’s probably for the best. I tend to get into trouble when I have free time, so I do my best to stay busy. It’s one reason I started the project with the Mustang. It keeps me occupied.
“When are you leaving?” I ask.
“Tomorrow night. Got a flight out of Orange County at ten.”
“Sounds good.”
We chill and have a couple more beers, just shooting the shit. He may live in my building, but we’re both so busy, we don’t have a lot of time to hang out. Life just gets in the way sometimes. Being a grown-up with grown-up responsibilities really sucks.
“All right, well, I should probably get back and finish packing,” Derek says. “I can’t believe how much shit I’m taking with me.”
“Well, you are going to be there for a few months.”
He chuckles. “Yeah, I guess so. Anyway, thanks again for handling that for me.”
“Not a problem. I’ll keep an eye on things.”
“Thanks, brother.”
“You got it. And thanks for the beer.”
He gives me a wave and heads back to his place to pack. It occurs to me after he’s gone that I didn’t ask him what he’s going to do with his cat. But then, I assume he’s already got it covered. He probably would have asked me to take care of the little fleabag if he hadn’t already taken care of it.
I glance at my watch and see I’ve only got a few hours before my guest bartending shift down at Caputo’s tonight. Determined to make the most of my remaining time, I drain the last of the bottle in my hand, crank the music back up, and go back to working on my car.