Chapter 2: Old Friends, New Problems
“The hell?” he breathed. He leaned in, squinting. “ What… what kinda midlife crisis are you havin’, man? You get a fuckin’ face transplant?” He stumbled over the threshold, too surprised to resist.
She kicked the door shut behind him with a bare foot, the bang echoing in the cavernous space. The sudden darkness, punctuated only by the single hanging bulb over the workbench, felt safer.
“Keep your voice down,” she said, and it was Jed’s cadence, Jed’s flat command, coming from this lush mouth.
Earl just stared, his gaze dragging down from her face, over the insistent swell of her breasts against the thin black cotton, the narrow waist, the curve of her hips in the too-tight shorts, down to her bare, oil-smudged feet. He looked like a man who’d been hit with a two-by-four.
“It’s me, you idiot,” Essie said, letting go of his coveralls and planting her hands on her hips. The stance felt instinctively right, one hip cocked. “And it wasn’t a transplant. It was… an alien widget.”
Earl blinked. “A what.”
“A widget. A thing. I found it in the Delorean. It zapped me and I woke up like this.” She gestured at herself, a sweeping motion that drew his eyes like magnets. She saw him look, and a part of her—a deep, new, thrilling part—purred in satisfaction. She let him look. She even shifted her weight, letting the light trace her silhouette against the dusty hood of an old Ford.
“You’re shittin’ me.”
“Do I look like I’m shitting you, Earl?” She took a step closer, invading his space. He smelled of diesel, sweat, and cheap pine air freshener. “My name’s Essie now. Essie Dubois. If anyone asks, I’m Jed’s cousin from… fuck-off-sville. He’s gone on a long-haul trucking gig. I’m minding the shop.”
Earl was only half-listening. His eyes were glued to the V of her tank top. “Jesus, Jed… Essie… whatever. You’re…”
“I know what I am,” she cut him off, a smirk playing on her lips. It felt good to smirk. The full lips made it feel like a weapon. She turned and walked toward the workbench, feeling the heat of his stare on her back, on the sway he’d never seen before. She couldn’t help it. The walk wasn’t a walk; it was a glide, her hips finding a rhythm that felt as natural as breathing. It felt fucking amazing.
She scooped up the cold, dead device from where it lay next to a socket set. “This is it.” She turned and tossed it to him underhand.
He fumbled the catch, his reflexes slowed by shock and lust. He turned the inert black slab over in his grimy hands. “This? This looks like a burnt-out transformer from a Japanese stereo.”
“It did this to me,” Essie said simply, leaning back against the workbench. She crossed her arms under her breasts, lifting them slightly. She saw his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed.
He put the device down, his gaze returning to her, hotter now. The initial shock was burning away, replaced by a hungry curiosity. “So you’re… a chick now. For real.”
“For real.”
He took a step toward her, a slow, predatory grin spreading across his face. “Gotta test that theory.” His hand came up, aiming to squeeze her shoulder, to touch, to confirm.
She didn’t even look at his hand. She just shifted her torso a bare two inches to the left. His fingers closed on empty air. He blinked, tried again, reaching for her waist. She pivoted on the ball of her foot, a smooth dancer’s move, and his hand brushed the dusty bench instead. It was effortless. An instinct. Like knowing where your own elbow was.
“The hell?” he muttered, intrigued and frustrated.
“A lot’s changed, Earl,” Essie said, her voice dropping to a low, conversational purr. She picked up a clean rag and began wiping the grease from her forearm, drawing his eyes to the smooth, pale skin. “But some things haven’t. I’m still not into guys.”
His face fell, a comical mixture of disappointment and disbelief. “You’re kiddin’. But you’re… look at you.”
“I know.” She let the rag drop. “But here’s the thing. That widget is broken. Dead. You’re a decent mechanic when you’re not hungover. You fix it… maybe we can test another theory.”
He was hooked. “What theory?”
She pushed off from the bench and closed the distance between them again, stopping just outside his reach. She looked up at him through her lashes. “A man-whore like you, Earl… you’d make one devastating woman. A total smoke show. All that… energy. Redirected.” She let the image hang in the oily air. “A woman like that… I might be interested in. I might just let her have her way with me.”
Earl’s breath hitched. She could see the calculation in his eyes, the lecherous fantasy spiraling out. Himself, but as that. With her. His face flushed.
“You fix that box,” Essie whispered, her voice like smoke. “You bring it back to me working, and we’ll see.”
Before he could respond, she stepped in, quick as a snake, and brought her hand down in a sharp, stinging slap on his denim-covered ass. The crack was loud in the quiet garage.
He jumped, more in surprise than pain. A slow, stupid grin spread across his face. He felt it—the objectification, the reduction to a piece of meat with a purpose. And he liked it. He fucking loved it.
“Now get out of here,” she said, turning her back on him, dismissing him utterly. “And start thinking of a sexy lady name for yourself. Something better than Earl.”
She heard him stand there for a long moment, heard his ragged breath. Then the shuffle of his boots, the creak of the door, and he was gone, leaving only the scent of diesel and a charged silence behind.
Essie let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. A tremor ran through her—not fear, but a raw, electric excitement. She looked down at her own hands, at the delicate wrists, the clean nails. She had just thrown a lifetime of friendship into a blender and poured it into a new, dangerous mold. And it had worked.
She walked over to the grimy window and peered out. Earl was by his tow truck, the wrecked BMW hunched on the hook like a dead beast. He wasn’t getting in the cab. He was just standing there, staring at the closed garage door, one hand absently rubbing his ass where she’d slapped it.
Essie smiled, a real, full, terrifying smile. It felt good. It felt like power.
She had a project now. And so did he.