I had wanted to kill time, but three hours in the filthy waiting area of an auto shop was not what I'd had in mind. It didn't help that my fingers throbbed with the impending check I was going to have to write to a mechanic that I was almost positive was in cahoots with Mufasa.

His bike had just the faintest of scratches, but he'd insisted that if we weren't going to go through insurance we needed "his guy" to assess the damage.

I tapped my foot against the leg of my chair, nervous and angry all at once. It had taken a seemingly endless amount of begging just to get him not to report the accident—if you could even call it that—and I was all out of nice.

"Hey, I'm going to hit the vending machine," Mufasa started, climbing out of his seat on the other side of the tiny room. He'd been mostly silent, staring out of the window overlooking the auto shop, watching his bike as if it might run away.

Holding up a hand, I shook my head. "We actually don't need to talk," I said flatly. I'd thought he understood that. Three hours in the making and we hadn't exchanged a word since arriving, but suddenly, he was telling me about his snack needs.

He sighed. "Ice cold to the very end, huh, A?"

I shivered. The sound of my name on his lips made me want to scream. And not just my name, my nickname, the name that only the closest people to me used.

"Don't call me that. It's not my name and we don't know each other like that." I kept my eyes trained on the window in front of me. The mechanic, also known as Mufasa's "guy," moved slowly towards the door to the waiting area.

Finally, I thought, breathing a sigh of relief. I just needed to hear how far in the hole this whole thing was going to put me. All I wanted was to rip the whole thing off like a Band-Aid and move on with my life, hopefully a life that never involved Mufasa again.

"What if I just call you Frost the Snow Bitch, FSB for short?"

I resisted rolling my eyes, refusing to acknowledge him. Our encounter was almost over; I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of getting to me. My eyes were glued to the tall, lanky mechanic shouting something over his shoulder as his hands gripped the door to the waiting area. Come on guy, get the lead out!

As if reading my thoughts, he moved again, pushing the door open and stepping through it. The entire room seemed to shake as the door slammed shut behind him.

"Alright, Fas, man, I got good news and I got bad news, what chu' wanna hear?"

I rolled my eyes and climbed to my feet. "Why don't you just tell us the final price tag?" I said sharply. Yep, I was plum out of nice to give to anyone.

The lanky mechanics eyebrows shot up and he blinked at me for a moment before recovering. "Alright." He shot Mufasa a look before returning his eyes to me. "Well, Kansas still works on the weekends, so she can airbrush back on the custom art, but the scratches go all the way down the length of the bike, so we're gonna have to repaint the whole thing, man."

Mufasa let out a laugh and I sighed in frustration. "Of course, you are." I put my fingers to the bridge of my nose. "So, what's it going to cost?"

"We can get the paints and the finish pretty cheap but the--"

"Look, I don't need the whole speech. Just...what's it going to cost?" I held my breath. Four hundred? Five Hundred? I'd barely make rent, and I'd have to push payment on a credit card or two but I could make it happen.

The mechanic narrowed his eyes on me and then looked to Mufasa again. "Ya'll splittin' this or somethin'?"

"Nope, it's all on her." Mufasa moved forward towards his friend, a wide grin set on his lips.

"No shit? How'd you manage that?"

Mufasa opened his mouth but I cut him off. "The cost? What will it cost?" These guys seemed determined to waste my time.

Mufasa's guy frowned. I was being rude, I knew it and frankly, I didn't care.

"It's gonna be about twelve hundred," he said.

"Dollars?" My throat burned and my mouth went dry. Where the hell was I going to get twelve hundred dollars for a motorcycle that wasn't even mine?

I tapped my fingers across the front of my bag. What was my alternative? If I lost my insurance it'd cost me way more. I tapped my foot realizing that both men in the room watched me expectantly.

Letting out a breath, I reached into my bag. Well, I'd wanted an afternoon free of thinking about Yelvin. Mission accomplished. I only wished it hadn't had such a hefty price tag. I wrapped my hands around my checkbook and its attached pen. "How long will it be before you cash this?"

***

I got kind of caught up this week, so just one mini chapter update (unproofed, so feel free to point out those typos)...maybe another mini chapter tomorrow. Idk. 

On another note, did anyone else jam to Clipse back in the day? Everyone I knew could bang out the beat to Grindin on a desk top.