Page 7 of Rough

“I’m supposed to start in the morning,” I said, trying my best to hide my excitement. I tilted my head toward a magazine-filled table surrounded by three chairs. “Can I fill this out over there?”

She smiled. “Sure.”

“Be right back.”

A seven day a week job that paid $200 a day would allow me to not only pay for the repairs to the man’s motorcycle, but fixing my car was certainly on the future’s horizon. This was exactly the break I had been waiting for.

Five years of college was finally going to pay off. In no time I would be able to call the big bad biker back and make some sort of believable excuse for not responding to his repeated messages.

I filled out the paperwork, signed everything, and then handed her the forms.

“All done,” I said with a smile.

“Here’s your stuff.” She slid my driver’s license and social security card across her desk. “And, for what it’s worth, this guy’s son is hot as fuck.”

“Oh really?”

“Uh huh. He came in here this morning.” She glanced over each shoulder and then leaned forward. “His feet were huge,” she whispered. She raised her hand and spread her fingers apart. “Hands, too.”

It was more information than I really needed. “Oooookay.”

Having a man in my life meant spending money unnecessarily. It was a luxury I couldn’t afford. To be honest, I wasn’t interested in men even if they were free. Men did one thing with regularity, and one thing only.

They left.

Her smile faded. “Uhhm. It was nice to meet you.”

I shot her a fake grin. “Same. Thank you.”

On my way to the car, I called the biker, fully intending to leave a message. My experience with bikers led me to believe that he spent all day on his motorcycle, and I seriously doubted he’d answer the phone. Much to my surprise, he did on the second ring.

“About fucking time,” he howled. “Why the fuck haven’t you answered?”

I took a deep breath. He made me nervous. Not a little bit, a lot. The teenage kind of nervous.

“My phone was shut off, and then I got it back on, but they cancelled my insurance--”

“You don’t have any fuckin’ insurance?” he screamed.

“I’m getting it resolved,” I said. “All I’ve got to do is--”

“You fucking better. It’s $3,500 worth of damage, and I sure as fuck ain’t paying for it.”

I fell through the opening in the side of my car and landed in the seat. “I promise you, I’ll get it taken care of. I’m dependable like that. I set my sights on something, and the next thing you know--”

“My bike’s bashed all to fuck. It better be quick.”

“It will,” I responded. “I’ve got a new job, and if I have to, I’ll pay for it out of my own pocket.”

Although I had every intention of getting my insurance up-to-date, paying for his damage out of my pocket was exactly what I was going to have to do, regardless.

“I don’t give a fuck if you’ve got to turn tricks, you better get me some fuckin’ money.”

“I will. I really will. That sounded bad, huh? I’ll pay for it. Not turn tricks. No trick Tegan, that’s what they call--”

“When?”

Apparently, he had no sense of humor. I let out a light sigh. “I’ll be in touch in a day or two.”