Mended: A Salvation Society Novel

again. We wouldn’t have battery-operated toys if we needed men around anyway.
“If you say so,” I snap.
“Well, I’ve always found women with brains more attractive than women with breasts,” he says with a confident smug on his face. I roll my eyes while my heart thumps a little faster.
“Look, Oliver. You’re handsome, and you clearly know it. But as I told you already, this job is too important for me to fuck it up. Falling into your bed isn’t an option. I don’t sleep around. I’m not interested in anything with men anymore, and I’m certainly not interested in you. So, keep your charms to yourself and let me be.”
I hate how I sound.
So guarded, hard, and unattainable.
Sometimes I miss who I used to be before King died.
I was the nice girl next door.
Career-oriented boss babe, you shouldn’t fuck with, but still, the nice girl who will give you a hand when you needed and bring donuts on Fridays.
Everyone loved hanging out with us, and we had an open-door policy for our friends. And when King was away, I surrounded myself with girlfriends almost every night.
Now, I can’t stand being with people more than once every two weeks, and I’m disaffected.
If I don’t regret to have known a love like I had with King, I sure don’t want to love ever again. All I want to do is enjoy whatever can give me the high I need to go on with my life.
The sweet girl next door died when she saw the brutality of life and the cruelty of some people.
That’s the way life works. Always teaching you a valuable lesson when you need it the most.
“Noted,” he says with a smirk. “Just don’t flaunt that brain of yours like others flaunt their tits, and we’ll be fine.” The doors open, and he strolls away, his jeans hugging the little hips he has and falling perfectly on an ass I’m trying to ignore.
I hurry after him, remembering his luggage is in Jackson’s rental. As payback for him not trusting me to drive him around, I decided to have a little fun with him.
“Wait a second,” I say loudly. “You don’t have a bag?” He stops in his tracks.
“Shit,” he whispers. “It’s in Jackson’s car.”
“Which one is it?” I ask, looking at the cars surrounding us in the underground parking and trying to hide my amusement. I’m not a very good actress, or so I was told. He jerks his chin toward a black SUV parked nearby. I stroll toward it and walk around, observing it.
“What are you doing?” I turn my head in his direction and shrug. He blinks rapidly while observing me. I have no idea, but I won’t tell him.
“Well, we need to open that car for you to get your bag.” I sound so innocent. If he knew me a little, he would see through me.
“I’m not breaking into a car just for my bag, Jackson can drop it off later.” He says while his hands pat down his legs. I smile at him but stay quiet. Looking at the car as if I’m ready to destroy the window to get his bag from the back seat when, in fact, I have the key in the pocket of my jeans. I come closer to the window and study it with the pretense to break it.
“Really, Tessa, it can wait.” He seemed a little panicked, and I’m kind of enjoying it. After the little episode I saw upstairs, I certainly shouldn’t push it, but what is life if you don’t live on the edge and always play it safe. I want to show him nothing terrible is going to happen and that it’s okay to let go a little. And maybe it’s not my place, but if I have to work near him for the next two weeks, he’s going to need a sense of humor.
“You have my keys. Can you get the doorstop and the wooden wedge from my trunk? I saw a video on YouTube on how to break into a car, and I always wanted to try.” I suppress the laugh starting in the back of my throat.
“Fucking no, Tessa. I know how to hijack a car, and we’re not doing that shit to a friend for my bag. That’s a no.” He’s pulling at his hair and a bead of sweat beads on his forehead. Having only just met the guy, I decide to pull the plug faster than I would with any of my friends. It’s a pity because I would have had a perfect time busting his balls a little longer.
“Okay, I’ll use the key Jackson gave me then.” I laugh. But Oliver doesn’t.
I open the car and retrieve his bag from the seat before walking toward him. He’s pacing nervously and breathing heavily, ready to lose his shit.
“Are you always so… “
“Awesome?” I interrupt, knowing that’s not where he’s going. He shakes his head.
“Not what I was going to say.”
“Look,” I smile still delighted by my little prank, “we only live once. Don’t be so uptight.” I know he’s not uptight per se, but if he prefers to behave like he doesn’t understand why I act the way I do, I’ll ignore why he seems to be close to a panic attack as well.
That’s the thing with people who’ve lost a loved one.
We recognize the pain of the other, but it doesn’t mean we acknowledge it.
We enable each other in our bullshit, hiding behind understanding when we should be the best at kicking each other’s ass and telling one another to heal fast and continue to live.
As to prove me right, he rolls his eyes and huffs in what is supposed to be anger but sounds more like relief.
“Which car is yours?” He asks, abruptly avoiding my eyes. I don’t let him deter my mood.
“That one.” I point to the only thing I didn’t sell when I traveled the world. My precious BMW SUV, my baby. He’d better be a good