Apples & Oranges (The This & That Series) (5 page)

Not interested, my ass,
I snickered to myself. “This is she,” I purred. “And let me guess. This is Demo… Demo… uh…”

Dang that crazy last name of his.
It was blowing my sexy cover all to pieces.

“
Antonopolous,” he replied.

“Right.” I pressed my lips together and reminded myself to keep my temper in check. “So why are you calling me so late? A little lonely in the garage at night?”

“I towed your car after we closed,” Demo said simply.

My eyebrows rose high on my forehead. He’d done something nice for me. Maybe there was hope after all. “Oh. Well, thank you.”

“Since it was after hours, I’ll have to charge time and a half.”

My eyebrows dropped back to their normal spot. “Of course.”

“You made it sound like money wasn’t your primary concern,” Demo explained in a flat voice.

“It’s not,” I hissed. “Do you always work this late at night?”

“I knew you wanted it back quickly,” he answered simply. “So I brought it back and took a look.”

I leaned against my kitchen countertop and waited for the bad news. The booty call scenario fizzled right before my eyes. “So what’s the verdict?”

I heard him shifting some papers, and then the clang of something landing on the metal desk. “You’ve got a bad alternator.”

“The car’s only a year old!” I blurted.

“It happens. Got a buddy across town who works with BMWs all the time. He says your make and model are infamous for alternator problems.”

“Can I get his number?” Grabbing a pen and paper out of my nearby mail stack, I readied myself to write. “Maybe he’ll be able to fix it.”

“Oh, I can fix your car.” Demo’s voice took on a defensive edge. “I’ll have it ready by ten tomorrow morning.”

“You can?”

“I can.”

“You’ve got the right parts, and everything?” I didn’t know much, but I knew enough to know that BMW parts weren’t usually sitting on the shelves in most Spokane mom and pop auto shops. That was the reason why I usually took it to the specialty shop at the dealership for maintenance.

“Got a buddy who owns a parts store.”

“My, you certainly have a lot of buddies. He let you into his shop to get the part this late at night?”

“
She
opens at six am. It’s in stock.”

A random spark of jealousy blinked inside my chest. I really needed to get a grip on myself. “Well, I underestimated you, Mr.
Antonopolous.”

Yes! I got his last name right. Score one for me.

“Seems to be a habit,” he grunted.

I grit my teeth together. “And you’re telling me that you’re going to fix my Be
emer first thing in the morning?”

“Yup.”

“For time and a half, right?”

“The tow was more,” Demo growled. “The labor will be standard cost. Unless you’d like to pay more, Princess.”

Seeing red, I pushed myself away from the counter. “Hey, who do you think—”

“
Sorry. Listen. You want me to work on your car?” he interrupted. “I’ve got a client who needs new sparkplugs in his delivery van real bad. I can do that first, if you like.”

“Just one moment.” I put the phone down on the countertop and kicked the back of my couch a few times, leaving black footprints. “
Estúpido, grosero culo limpie
!”

I thought I heard a chuckle when I picked the receiver back up and said, “I would love it if you fixed my car first thing tomorrow.”

When Demo spoke again, there was a smile in his voice. “You know I speak Spanish, right?”

I scrunched my face up and slapped a palm to my forehead. Whoops. I’d focused so much on his bulging biceps and surly attitude, that I’d forgotten that detail. “Yes,” I lied. “Yes, I do.”

“Well, it’s settled then. See you at ten.”

“Right.” I felt like punching a hole in something. Anything.

He hung up before I could say another word.

Chapter Five

              When I went to Triple D’s the next morning, I was dressed for success.

             
Not catering success, per say, but man-eating success. Form fitting pencil pants; a red, sleeveless Elie Tahari blouse; and five-inch, red platform pumps topped off my look. As soon as Demo saw me emerge from the cab, he’d stood up and watched me with pointed interest as I click-click-clicked into the garage. Sure, I was going to have to don a smock when I got to work, but all that mattered was that I’d marched up to Demo with legs—and confidence—for miles.

             
That is, until he opened his mouth.

             
“Good morning, Demo,” I’d said, putting a hand on my hip and smiling. I’d worn lipstick in the exact same shade of deep red as my blouse and shoes, and every time I wore it I got compliments. I waited for him to respond, positive that
Operation Seduce Demo-the-mechanic
was in full swing.

             
He drew a long breath, then took his time to release it while he held my gaze, steady and strong. “I wondered when you’d show up.”

             
“I—” My hand dropped from my hip. “What?”

             
Demo jerked his head to the right. “Car’s ready.”

             
“Good.” I swallowed a snotty retort and hiked my purse further up on my arm. Why in the world was I trying so hard to make this guy want me when he was so clearly disinterested? “What do I owe you?”

             
Demo ambled over to the metal desk, and tugged a grease-stained sheet of printer paper out from under a disassembled auto part. “The tow, plus parts and labor came to four hundred sixty three and seventy two cents.”

             
I walked around the circumference of my car, stopping to wipe at a piece of dust that disguised itself as a scratch. I could feel his eyes watching me, but I didn’t hurry. Once I’d circled the whole car, I opened the driver’s side door and looked at the mileage.

“Looks like you drove it for a while. What gives?” I asked nonchalantly.

Demo faced me. “I drove it out a few miles down highway twenty seven and back once the new alternator was in to make sure it was running right.”

“Huh.” I slammed the car door. “Seems a bit excessive.”

He folded his arms across his chest. He’d not yet put on his coveralls, so his thin grey tee shirt did little to hide those delicious muscles. “You seem a bit nitpicky.”

Matching his pose, I let the smile drop off of my face. “
You seem a bit overly sensitive.”

He took a step closer to me. “Well, you seem a bit rude.”

“Well, you seem a bit bipolar.” I took a step closer to him. We were only about a foot apart now, and I could feel electricity popping and crackling between our chests. I couldn’t tell if it was because we wanted each other… or because we wanted to throttle each other. Maybe it was both.

A line appeared between Demo’s dark eyebrows. “Bipolar? That’s the best you got?”

“Seriously!” I threw my hands up. “You work on my car at the crack of dawn to be nice, and then you treat me like garbage when I come to pick it up! I came in here in the hopes of making peace with you, but your mood swings are shifting like a hyperactive pendulum!”

He glared down at me. “You think coming in here dressed to the nines is going to make me give you some sort of discount or something?”

“I don’t need a damn discount.” Tugging my purse open, I produced my credit card. Again. “Four hundred sixty two dollars. Take it.”

Demo snatched the card out of my hand. “And seventy-two cents.”

“
Fastidioso
,” I muttered under my breath.

He leaned in close. There was that aroma again. Why oh why did it smell so good to me? “For the hundredth time, I know what you’re saying. And I’m
not
annoying.”

“Good.” I met his steely gaze with my own. “And
yes,
you are.”

For a second, I thought he was going to laugh. I mean, we probably looked pretty ridiculous. Chest to chest, leaning into each other like two dogs ready to fight. If I’d walked in on the scene myself, I would’ve assumed that these two people were seconds away from killing each other… or making out. But from where I stood, making out was nowhere on the horizon.

I wasn’t sure whether to be happy or sad about that. On one hand, Demo looked beyond
delicioso
this morning. His dark hair was every bit as messy as it’d been yesterday, but not yet soaked with sweat around the neckline. And his dark eyes positively shone as he razzed me, goading me into yet another argument.

But on the other hand, Demo was a serious jerk. He was moody and surly, and had a
n obsession with knocking the wind out of my sails at every opportunity. Why he hated me as much as he did, I didn’t know. But I no longer wanted to change it. Sure, making Demo Antonopolous want me would’ve been a fun accomplishment—one to put down in my diary, if I had one, I’m sure of it—but it wasn’t worth standing in the filthy garage arguing anymore.

We stared at each other with a venomous current buzzing between our bodies.
Neither one of us willing to look away first. Neither one of us willing to admit we were behaving like idiots. I heard the sound of a car pulling up in the small parking lot outside, but still we stood there, unmoving.

Finally, at the sound of a car door shutting, Demo blinked. “On your Visa?”
he asked mildly.

“Please.” I replied, my tone icy. Screw this crap. It wasn’t worth it.

He went into the office, leaving the door open behind him. There were dozens of framed pictures hanging on the wall, and stacks and stacks of paperwork everywhere. Each of the frames was different, each bearing a different family portrait. Some were faded and discolored, and the clothes the people were wearing looked dated and out of style. Others were bright and new, and the clothes in those pictures were trendier and more up to date. The resounding detail in each of the shots was that they all the same dark eyes and wild black hair Demo had. The Antonopulous genes ran strong with this clan, and in each of the pictures, their smiles were wide and joyous.

I wanted to ask him if those were all pictures of his family? How big was the
Antonopulous family tree, anyway? How many generations had worked in Three D’s? Who pissed in his Cheerios that morning, making him grumpier than all the smiling people in those pictures?

But instead, I just stood there with my arms folded. My stubborn streak was that of legends.

“Oh, yeah, You’ll have to come back,” Demo called, tearing a receipt off of the credit card machine, and lumbering back towards me.

“I what?” I laughed. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

He looked about as cranky as I felt. “I looked it up. Your BMW has two recalls out.”

“Oh, right.” I waved a hand dismissively. I remembered getting a letter in the mail from the dealership a month or two ago—or maybe more—about that. “Okay. I’ll make an appointment with the dealership.”

“I ordered the parts through my friend.” He put the receipt down on the corner of the metal desk and fished a pen out of one of the drawers. It was plastic and chewed on, just like the one I’d used the other day. “They’ll be here in a week or so.”

             
Shaking my head, I took the pen and scrawled out my signature. “Not necessary. It’s free if I go through the dealership.”

             
“They’re only free within a year of the recall,” Demo explained. “After that, you have to pay for labor.”

             
I shoved the receipt at him. “Then I’ll pay them for labor. I’ll pay whatever—”

             
He rolled his eyes and tossed it onto the desk. “I know. But for what it’s worth, though, I charge half of what they charge.
Half
. You won’t find that anywhere else in town.”

             
I watched Demo for a beat. The garage itself had seen better days. The doors were rusted, and the sign out front had begun to crack and curl around the edges. It was clear he needed the business, especially if Candace was right and he fixed cars for trade.

             
“Demetrious, are you groveling?” a little voice scolded from behind my back.

Demo looked over my shoulder, and his surly expression melted away. “Good morning,
Yiayia.”

I turned around and was met with a tiny old woman who was eye
level with my chest. Her head was covered with a perfect helmet of white hair, and the handbag hanging from her elbow was at least half the size of her little body. On her wrinkled face, she wore a pair of thick glasses adorned with a blue and white beaded chain.

“Morning, Demo. Who’s this?”
she asked.

“A customer.” He nodded at me. “She was just leaving.”

Trey sauntered into the garage, carrying an oversized tray of fresh baklava. “Geez, Yiayia, do you think you made enough this morning?” He chuckled, before stopping when he saw me. “Oh, hey. Marisol, right?”
              I nodded. “Yes. Hi, Trey.”

“She remembered my name,” he said to Demo with a grin.

“Congratulations,” growled his uncle.

“Ugh. So grumpy.” The old woman swung her giant black purse at Demo, swiping him on the hip. “He’s always grumpy.
Even when he was a kid. Grumpy.”

I laughed despite myself. “I’m glad it’s not just me.”

“No way. Uncle Demo’s always in a mood.” Trey lifted the corner of the plastic wrap on the tray. “Baklava? My yiayia makes the best around. It’s won contests at our church. She makes treats every morning for our customers.”

“Thank you.” The smell was heavenly. I plucked one from the tray, knowing my trainer would punish me for it later. But once I took a bite, and the rich, heavy sweetness filled my mouth, I knew it would be worth it. “This is incredible.”

The old woman beamed. “Thank you, dear.” Her tiny, wrinkled hand slapped the side of Demo’s arm. “Well, aren’t you going to introduce me to your girlfriend, Demetrious?”

“Oh, I’m not his girlfriend,” I said at the same time Demo said, “She’s not my girlfriend.”

She winked at me. “But you will be.”

“Like I said,
Marisol was just leaving.” Demo plucked my keys off of a hook above the desk and handed them to me. “Have a good one.”

Her little hand smacked his arm a second time.

              “Ow, Yiayia,” Demo said, rubbing his arm. “Easy.”
              Giggling, I shared a smile with Trey. It was nice to see someone of Demo’s stature getting his ass kicked by an old lady.

             
“Be polite, young man,” she ordered. “Introduce me.”

             
Demo drug a hand down is face. “All right. Yiayia, this is Marisol Vargas. I replaced her alternator this morning.”

             
“I’ll bet you did,” Trey snickered. When his Yiayia smacked the back of his head, he added, “Ow. Sorry.”

             
Demo looked at me. “Marisol, this is my grandmother, Thea Antonopolous.”

             
I shook her bony hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Antonopolous.”

             
“Oh, please.” She grinned. “That’s too formal.”
              “Very well, then,
Thea
.” I popped the rest of the baklava into my mouth and chewed it slowly. Seriously… so good.

             
“Call me Yiayia,” she ordered.

             
I shook my head. “Oh, I couldn’t. I barely know you—”

             
“Well, you know me now. My grandson just introduced you.” She patted my hand kindly. “Tell me, Marisol. Do you have a grandmother?”

             
I blinked at her. Nobody had ever asked me that before. “I, uh, don’t. Actually. My father’s parents are deceased, and I’ve never met my mother’s parents.” I felt Demo’s eyes boring into the side of my head, but ignored it.

             
Her cool hands squeezed mine. It felt like she was made out of crepe paper. “Well, then you can call me Yiayia. That’s Greek for grandma, you know.”

             
“Oh, I don’t think—”

             
She frowned. “Every girl deserves a grandma.”

             
Unexpected tears pricked at the backs of my eyes. “Yes, ma’am.”

             
“Okay, well, that was nice.” Demo took my elbow in a firm but gentle grasp. “Marisol has to go now.”

             
“Aw, I just met her.” Yiayia’s grip on my hands tightened. “Don’t be such a stick in the mud, Demetrious. Let me get to know the lady a little more.”

             
“Yiayia’s been trying to get Uncle Demo married for years,” Trey told me. “All her other grandchildren are married by now, and he’s the only one still not making babies. She’s got expectations, you know.”