Page 48 of Until Tomorrow (Love Doesn’t Cure All: The Ashwood Duet #1)

Elliot

Hands on my hips, I stood in the open bay of the firehouse and just stared at my broken-down engine. It was the third time in six months that I found myself in this position.

“Agatha, you pain in my fucking ass,” I said out loud. Yes, I named all our trucks after old ladies. Did you ever get into it with an old broad? They were fucking brutal and tough as nails. My trucks were supposed to reflect that.

Agatha did not. Agatha did whatever she wanted—including breaking down on me whenever the hell she wanted. It was a love-hate relationship. She loved to hate me, and I loved to hate how I had to adjust the house budget for her.

“Are you talking to your fucking truck again?”

“She doesn’t fucking listen to me!” I exclaimed, grinning. I turned as the emergency mechanic wandered into the garage. Okay, Rhett wasn’t the station-picked mechanic, but he did a better job than the other guy did. He also never complained when I called him up for help.

And for my absolute enjoyment, Rhett was so goddamn hot it should’ve been illegal.

The man somehow combined gruff biker and alternative emo into one delicious package.

Tall, dark, and broody didn’t hold a candle to that man.

He had wayward dark hair, a full beard, and soulful gray eyes while also sporting broad shoulders, a strong back, and biceps I wanted to put my hands on.

I didn’t, but a man could fucking dream.

And the pierci ngs and tattoos? Hot. And those were just the ones I could see.

There was no doubt the man had more hidden somewhere.

“Ever thought maybe she hates the name Agatha?” Rhett asked when he stopped next to me. Hell, he even had the height thing working for him at only an inch or two shorter than me.

Unfortunately, he was straight. Too bad, so sad, my dick wept at the thought.

“Bullshit,” I scoffed. Sighing, I crossed my arms. “All right, what do I owe you?”

“Well, it’s my day off, so…” He clicked his tongue piercing as he surveyed the truck—and yes, the man had a tongue piercing. He had no right being that damn hot and flaunting it. Fuck, I needed to get laid. A week of nothing was turning me into a dog. “We’ll call it two blow jobs this time.”

I laughed. As a straight man, he had no issues throwing down in the dirty jokes department with me. I liked that about him.

“You know, you have to start cashing in at some point,” I told him as I watched him unpack his bag. “You’re up to… how many now?”

“Today will make it twenty-three,” he said with a grunt, scooting under the truck. “I’d like to make it an even twenty-four and cash in all at once.”

“Twenty-four all at once?”

“A whole day of fucking blow jobs, keep you busy every hour.” I knew he was teasing me, but fuck if I didn’t wish I could take him up on that shit.

“Ah, well.” I feigned my sadness. “One more to go, I guess. Agatha will come through for me. She always does.”

“They still haven’t approved a new truck?” Rhett asked.

“Fuck no,” I replied. “If they can fix it for less than replacing it, why the hell would the city replace it?”

“I ain’t complaining if I keep getting paid.”

“I appreciate you coming in on your day off,” I said in earnest. That part I felt guilty about, considering he wasn’t prone to taking days off.

“It’s fine,” he told me. “I was getting restless anyway. The muses were too quiet, friends were all working, and there were only so many groceries I could buy as one man. I was starting to contemplate murder just for the hell of it.”

“Fun times, fun times.” I nodded slowly.

“You doing good there, Elliot?”

“ Firehouse floor confessionals?” I asked as I lay down on the concrete and folded my hands on my chest. We had this thing.

I didn’t know his last name, he didn’t know mine, but we talked.

No names, no extensive details, or any of that.

Our lives were our own, but it was nice to put shit out there that I didn’t talk to anyone else about. Things I couldn’t tell Logan or Eva.

“I met someone,” Rhett said.

“No shit!” I exclaimed. I rolled my head to stare at him. Rhett’s wife had died when they were young, and the poor man hadn’t moved on in life. Grief was such a weird thing. “That’s awesome. That is awesome, right?”

“Yeah.” He chuckled.

“We’re happy about this change of events?”

“Yeah, we are.”

“No panicking?”

“Mild, occasional panicking,” he admitted. Understandable. “But I also feel like it’s the right time, you know? And she’s… man, she’s so far out of my fucking league that I don’t know what the hell she sees in me.”

“But those are the best kind,” I told him.

I didn’t have a clue. I usually hooked up like I was scraping the bottom of the barrel, but I did so intentionally.

They were easy to get rid of. I didn’t like attachments.

We could just say I had attachment issues.

That was probably the easiest way to put that.

“She’s a fucking firecracker,” Rhett continued. I could hear the smile on his face as he talked about her. “Not afraid to hand me my ass, more talent than she gives herself credit for, and still somehow sweet as hell.”

“Sounds like your type.” Was it? I didn’t have a clue. Types were never something that we discussed. “How are you feeling about it all?”

He fell silent, and I could practically hear him thinking from under the truck.

I gave him space, though. Rhett wasn’t one for words—it wasn’t his thing—so he needed time to put his thoughts together.

I also had to learn to shut the fuck up because I could absolutely talk enough for the both of us and then some.

“I’m conflicted,” he said. “On one hand, I want this. I like her—probably more than I should. I can’t go a fucking hour of the day without thinking about her.”

“I mean, that’s not necessarily a bad thing,” I murmured.

“On the other hand, I’m worried I’m going to fuck this up. I haven’t dated a single person since my wife passed. Why now? Why her? And how long before I fuck this shit up? ”

Ah, the questions of the century.

“I think the key is to keep communicating with her, Rhett,” I replied like I had a goddamn clue.

I was the last person to be giving out relationship advice.

At least he’d been married. I didn’t have a leg to stand on in that department—not like I was trying to either.

“And get out of your own head. I don’t think you’ll ever get the answers to why her or why now and all that crap.

That’s fate or destiny or whatever you want to call it.

Whatever it is, it’s happening here and now, so roll with it.

And whenever you have doubts or worries, talk to her. ”

“I’m not good at talking to other people.”

“What the hell am I?” I demanded. “Chopped liver?”

“When we talk at a point where I’m not fixing your fuck-up on the truck, then we can count you,” he said.

“Touché.” It was a fair point. “You’ve been doing that whole alone thing for so long that you need to make sure you keep telling her things too. She can’t help you through your shit if she doesn’t know what’s going on.”

“Anyone ever tell you you’re pretty damn smart for a man who hits the fucking curb?” he retorted, and I chuckled. You hit a curb one time in front of a mechanic and he’s suddenly full of opinions.

“I save my stupid reserves for the curbs,” I joked. “But in all seriousness, live it up. It sounds like she’s a great woman, and you obviously like her. Don’t get in your own way.”

“And you? Are you still in your own way? How are things with your best friend?” Rhett asked, eliciting a loud sigh out of me. “Still in love with him?”

“Still in love with him,” I confirmed. That was my big ‘oh, hell no’ secret. I loved Logan. It wasn’t some puppy dog, head-over-heels kind of love. No, I loved that man with every fiber of my being. I was shamefully obsessed with Logan and had been since we were kids.

At least I was smart enough to know that I didn’t stand a chance with him. I wasn’t over here trying to make something where there wasn’t. I just couldn’t seem to work through my one-sided feelings for the man. It probably didn’t help that we talked every day and saw each other a few times a week.

“You ever play truth or dare as a kid?”

“What?” I glanced over to find him staring at me.

“Truth or dare. You know the game where you—”

“I know what the game is. Why are you asking?”

“Pick one,” he said. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth,” I replied without thinking.

“I need you to pick dare,” Rhett told me. I fucking grinned. This asshole.

“I don’t want to pick dare!”

“Pick dare, you fucker.”

“Fine! I pick dare, Rhett whatever-your-last-name-is!” I exclaimed dramatically. “I pick dare! Do you worst.”

“I dare you to go on a date.”

“Fuck no,” I snapped. I couldn’t get my answer out quickly enough. “I’m not going out on a date.”

“You’ve been pining over the same man since you were a kid,” he continued as if he didn’t hear me. “I’ve been stuck on my wife since before I could drink. It’s officially time for the two of us to get out of our own fucking way, don’t you think?”

“Nah, I’m good here.” I was far from good, but he didn’t need to know that. Unfortunately for me, the expression on his stupidly handsome face told me that he didn’t believe a single word coming out of my mouth. “Okay, fine. I’m not that good, but I don’t like dating.”

“No one likes dating when it’s not with the right person,” Rhett pointed out. “But to find the right person—”

“Fish in the sea… blah, blah, blah… cast my net far and wide. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I get it,” I interrupted. “I have to date a lot of fucking morons to find the right one.”

“You never know, the first one could be the right one,” he countered. “But you’ll never know if you don’t stop fucking people and start dating them.”

“I don’t like it. It sounds awful.” I sighed and stared up at the ceiling.

I knew he was right. That was my biggest problem with everything he said.

I’d been thinking the same thing for a while.

I wasn’t getting any younger, and I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life alone.

Forty was around the proverbial corner. If I wasn’t proactive, I would be alone for the rest of my life.

But dating meant putting myself out there for someone else to hurt.

Not that I blamed Logan for not being into me.

It wasn’t his fault. But that single fact did nothing to ease the ever-lingering ache.

If he could do that to me without realizing it, what the hell could someone do with actual power over me if I gave it to them?

“Fine,” I muttered. “Fine, I’ll go on a stupid date. But when shit hits the fan—and it will—you owe me a fucking drink.”

“I’ll make it something damn good, promise.” Rhett chuckled. Well, amen to that.

“Where do I start?”

“The fuck if I know,” he replied. “I had a friend who raved about using Tumble. She met her wife on there after ditching half a dozen other apps. So, maybe that one?”

“Isn’t their motto something about tumbling into bed?” I snorted. That sounded like the opposite of what I was supposed to be doing.

“Tumble into your next relationship, or some bullshit marketing crap like that,” Rhett said with a laugh. “I don’t know, man. You’ve got to do something. Fuck, I should’ve done something sooner.”

“Stupid hearts.” I sighed. “This would be so much easier if our hearts weren’t such assholes like we are.”

“A-fucking—did you hit a fucking curb with Agatha?” Rhett demanded.

“I did not! I hit two.”

“What the fuck did I tell you about the curbs?” he snapped. “Jesus fucking Christ, Elliot!”

“They’re supposed to take a beating!” I exclaimed. “That’s why I name them all after old ladies. They can take it as good as they can give.”

“Agatha isn’t some horny old lady in need of young dick to rock her world,” he retorted. “Agatha is an old lady with a fear of people and brittle bones. You treat her with some goddamn respect, young man. She needs a special touch—gentle and firm. Take control and show her who’s daddy.”

“Oh, Jesus fuck.” I busted out laughing. “I can’t be some old lady’s daddy.”

“Pretend Agatha is an old man and show him who’s daddy,” he corrected, making me laugh harder. “Whatever the fuck it takes for you to stop mistreating these damn trucks.”

He grumbled some more nonsense that I couldn’t understand while I lay there pondering the predicament he’d put me in. The idea of finding someone to call me daddy sounded way more appealing than finding someone to date.

Tak ing Rhett’s advice, I locked myself in my office that afternoon with my phone and that stupid man’s dare hanging over my head.

I could’ve just lied and said it wasn’t going well, but that wasn’t me.

And I did need to move on with my life. I refused to be eighty and still pining after my married best friend.

I flipped through my phone until I pulled up the app store and found Tumble with its falling hearts and soft colors.

As far as appearances, it looked like any other dating app, but shit, I spent a good thirty minutes trying to fill out my profile.

They covered everything under the goddamn sun.

I half-expected them to ask me my gross income and what school I attended when I was five.

All in all, by the time I was done, it was a great profile. I looked fantastic on the app, and why shouldn’t I? I was a goddamn catch. But my heart still wasn’t in it, which was when I exited the app and focused on work.