Brian
"Everything still going good at J's?"
I looked over at my boss, wiping my hands off on my pants. "Uh, yeah," I lied, "it's fine."
"He's treating you alright?"
"Being Jay," I said, making sure to call him by his nickname that everyone knew him as, "nothing I can't handle."
"You know, my buddy owns the shop he works at," he said.
Fuck.
I looked over at him, hoping I wasn't about to get caught in a lie.
"He's been calling in a lot," he said, nodding, "I mean, at least he's got the decency to call, but he barely goes in anymore."
"He, uh," I began, wiping off my fingers one by one with my towel, "he keeps getting this cold. He can't get away from it, it seems."
"Does that have anything to do with his bad drinking habits?" He deadpanned.
I let out a sigh. Shit.
"Listen, if you want me to be truthful-"
I was thankfully cut off by someone walking in the garage, making me look over at the man.
His eyes toggled between my boss and I, but they landed on me. "Are you guys still open?"
"We'll be closing in about thirty," my boss said, "needing something quick?"
"I think I just need someone to look at it," he said, nodding back to his car, "I can come back tomorrow if it'll be a longer job."
My boss nodded towards me. "Brian here'll take good care of you. He's a good boy."
He grabbed my shoulder. "You can talk to me tomorrow."
I bit down on my lip and watched him walk away, but averted my attention to the man when he disappeared into his office.
"Brian?"
I looked at the man as I began walking to his car, nodding. "Yes, sir. That's me."
He nodded, looking as if he was trying to figure out what to say next.
Okay?
I cleared my throat, nodding towards his car. "If you'll get in and pop the hood for-"
"Yeah," the man said, jogging over to the drivers side.
He popped the hood, making me open it and look inside. It was a nice car — almost as nice as the one Mr. King pity-fucked just to give me a seven hundred dollar tip.
"Nice car," I said, "looks new."
"Yeah," he said, nodding, "i-it is."
I looked over at him. "So what's going on?"
Why it looked as if he was trying to make up an answer was beyond me — I simply watched as he shook his head and rubbed the back of his neck.
"It sputters," he said, "when I, you know, brake and hit the gas a little too hard."
"Sounds like a spark plug, air filter, maybe fuel filter problem," I said, "easy fix."
I walked over to grab my tools, bringing them back to the car.
"You think it'll be fixed tonight?" He asked.
"Yeah, I don't mind staying past closing if I need to," I said.
"Do you mind if I stay while you fix it?"
I looked over at him, shaking my head. "No."
"You look young," he said.
