Little White Lies by Jennifer Lynn Barnes EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Authors: Jennifer Lynn Barnes
- Language: English
- Genre: Teen & Young Adult Romantic Mystery eBooks
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 3.3 MB
- Price: Free
NINE MONTHS EARLIER
Catcalling me was a mistake that most of the customers and mechanics at
Big Jim’s Garage only made once. Unfortunately, the owner of this
particular Dodge Ram was the type of person who put his paycheck into
souping up a Dodge Ram. That—and the urinating stick figure on his back
window—was pretty much the only forewarning I needed about the way
this was about to go down.
People were fundamentally predictable. If you stopped expecting them
to surprise you, they couldn’t disappoint.
And speaking of disappointment… I turned my attention from the Ram’s
engine to the Ram’s owner, who apparently considered whistling at a girl to
be a compliment and commenting on the shape of her ass to be the absolute
height of courtship.
“It’s times like this,” I told him, “that you have to ask yourself: Is it
wise to sexually harass someone who has both wire cutters and access to
your brake lines?”
The man blinked. Once. Twice. Three times. And then he leaned
forward. “Honey, you can access my brake lines anytime you want.”
If you know what I mean, I added silently. In three… two…
“If you know what I mean.”
“It’s times like this,” I said meditatively, “that you have to ask yourself:
Is it wise to offer to bare your man-parts for someone who is both patently
uninterested and holding wire cutters?”
“Sawyer!” Big Jim intervened before I could so much as give a snip of
the wire cutters in a southward direction. “I’ve got this one.”
I’d started badgering Big Jim to let me get my hands greasy when I was
twelve. He almost certainly knew that I’d already fixed the Ram, and that if
he left me to my own devices, this wouldn’t end well.
For the customer.
“Aw hell, Big Jim,” the man complained. “We were just having fun.”
I’d spent most of my childhood going from one obsessive interest to
another. Car engines had been one of them. Before that, it had been
telenovelas, and afterward, I’d spent a year reading everything I could find
about medieval weapons.
“You don’t mind a little fun, do you, sweetheart?” Mr. Souped-Up
Dodge Ram clapped a hand onto my shoulder and compounded his sins by
squeezing my neck.
Big Jim groaned as I turned my full attention to the real charmer beside
me.
“Allow me to quote for you,” I said in an absolute deadpan, “from
Sayforth’s Encyclopedia of Archaic Torture.”
One of the finer points of chivalry in my particular corner of the South was
that men like Big Jim Thompson didn’t fire girls like me no matter how
explicitly we described alligator shears to customers in want of castration.
Fairly certain I’d ensured the Ram’s owner wouldn’t make the same
mistake a third time, I stopped by The Holler on the way home to pick up
my mom’s tips from the night before.
“How’s trouble?” My mom’s boss was named Trick. He had five
children, eighteen grandchildren, and three visible scars from breaking up
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