Wicked Company

Chapter Nine

~ Tucker's POV ~

I fought the muscles of my face as they tried to curve a smile onto my lips. The woman at my side irritated me to hell and back, but damn if her spunk and attitude didn't intrigue me.

I was six foot two and covered in tattoos, something women seemed to bend to. To meet one with an iron will and even stronger tongue, I was out of my element. And I was more interested than I should've been.

"Johnny, how the hell do you know my name?"

The tiny woman at my side leaned forward, waving a hand in front of my face like I hadn't heard her repeated question.

"I'm ignoring you, not fucking blind. Chill out, Barbie. I'll tell you when you're sober enough to not rip my balls off."

"Joke's on you if you think I won't do that sober, too."

It was more fun than I cared to admit to provoke her. The flecks of green in her hazel eyes always lit up with any challenge I threw at her and to say I was mesmerized would be a colossal understatement. But I couldn't do this.

I pulled into the shop's empty lot, ignoring her protests once again. I snarled my own rage at the emptiness in front of me, though the anger was directed at the impending arrival of a multitude of cars in the morning and not its condition now. I slammed the car into neutral and set the brake, shoving my door open.

"Hello!" Barbie screeched behind me, fumbling around with the door handle. I hadn't locked it, she was still that piss drunk that she couldn't grip it enough to open.

I rolled my eyes and trudged around, jerking it open. She fell out like a sack of potatoes before I could react, groaning against the pavement. Unable to stop the small chuckle that forced through my lips, I coughed to hide the rest.

"Why are we here?" She grumbled as she stood on wobbly legs, flipping me off before dusting herself down.

I raised a brow. "Where else would we be?"

"Not a fucking auto shop, maybe?"

"Was I supposed to take you to my home even though you wouldn't trust me with yours?"

"Actually yeah. Because I'm not gonna fall in love with and stalk you. I don't do the love bullshit."

"Again with the high and mighty attitude? How cliché of you."

"Excuse me?"

"You know. Like overused, typical, lacking originality-"

"I fucking know what it means, asshole. I meant how the fuck am I cliché?"

"No, not my house. Yours though. No beds, couches only. No you can't know my name." I mocked her, my throat straining as I spoke in a nasally, high-pitched tone. "Cliché. You won't get close to anyone and won't let anyone close to you. You use sarcasm to hide behind. It's textbook. Let me guess... Mommy issues? No, you don't seem to mind women. You're more reserved around men. So daddy issues?"

"Wow. Thank you so much for that, Doctor Johnny. That was so much fun. I've never been to a therapist before, thank you for reminding me why. Why the fuck do you care about my life anyway?"