Apples & Oranges (The This & That Series) Read Free

pretty sure I’d sweated most of my makeup down into a bronze ring at the base of my neck.
    Limping past the door of the corrugated metal shop with a red roof, I headed straight for the open double garage doors. There was no time to chitchat with some sort of dimwitted receptionist, and there had to be some grease monkey underneath one of these pieces of crap. I was in a mood. I’d just spent forty-five minutes across a table from my mother, and if that wasn’t enough to put someone on edge, I didn’t know what would. My stomach dropped as I passed the mirrored glass door. I never went in public looking like this. Ever.
    “What can I do for ya?”
                  Jumping, I tripped over a crack in the cement and stumbled into the garage. A kid in his early twenties with a prominent nose and dark, shaggy hair stood before me. His coveralls were oil stained and greasy, and he peered up at me from underneath the hood of a beat up truck that looked like it should’ve been laid to rest a decade ago. He’d clearly be gorgeous one day, once he’d gotten the chance to grow into his Mediterranean features, but for now he was sporting the awkwardly cute appearance of someone who knew not the full extent of his capability. I remembered those days.
                  “Yeah. I need help.” I tugged off my other shoe and tossed both of them into a nearby trashcan. The back of my blouse was completely plastered to my skin.
                  His eyes widened. “Hey-yo. I can help you. What seems to be the problem, pretty lady?” As he stood upright, he whacked his head into the truck hood. He blushed and rubbed his tousled head sheepishly. “Ow. Sorry.”
                  I would’ve laughed, had I not been on the verge of heat exhaustion.
    When his eyes roamed from the top of my head, down to my toes, and back up again, lingering far too long on my cleavage, I sneered and said, “Is it take your son to work day today?”
                  Years and years ago, I’d left the seventh grade in May with the body of a pubescent boy, then returned in September with the body of a Playboy model. I’d inherited my mother’s curves and my father’s Puerto Rican good looks, and whether I liked it or not, men took notice. Annalise eventually took me shopping, introducing me to the fun of lingerie shopping and four inch heels. By the time I was sixteen, I’d grown fond of the leering stares and the way I could control men with the flip of the hair or the jut of a hip. Now that I was in my thirties, I used my looks to my advantage for everything from lowered insurance premiums to free mochas.
    Hey, you work with what you got, right?
                  The kid in the coveralls smirked. “Yeah, right. My dad doesn’t work here.”
                  I raised an eyebrow. “You’re what? Sixteen? Seventeen, kid?”
                  “Nineteen,” he replied with a grin.
                  “Tempting, big guy.” I lifted my dampened hair off of my neck, and his eyebrows rose higher on his forehead. “But really, the sign says family owned and operated. Who runs this place?”
                  He straightened his shoulders. “Who says I don’t? Want a tour?”
                  This kid was persistent, I had to give him that. But I didn’t do the cougar thing. Not with boys that young, anyway. The youngest I dated was twenty-two, a full decade younger than me. I’d only done that because Candace had declared it inappropriate and morally wrong. And, well, I couldn’t let her win that argument, could I? We’d only gone out a few times before I realized I was in competition with the guy’s Xbox, and that wasn’t gonna fly. I stuck to my own age bracket or older, now.
                  “I’ll pass on that tour.” I pulled my wallet out of my handbag, then slid my platinum card out of its worn slot. “But