Oil Change, Part 5

Rubber crushing gravel on asphalt. Jen recognized the sound of her car’s engine, turned to see it pulling outside the front entrance. Stopping. She turned back to the younger man behind the counter, who seemed anxious to hear her next words.

“Thanks for taking me in, on short notice.” She fastened the zipper of her jacket, pulled it up to her chest. Handbag slipped off shoulders, pulled back up. “One thing about that no-label policy of yours — haven’t caught your name yet.”

A pair of black eyebrows lifted. “‘s it matter?”

Jen shrugged. “Of course it doesn’t.” She lowered the handle of her handbag onto the crook of her elbow, stuck her hand inside, retrieved her keys. “Which is precisely the reason I want to know.”

The young man snorted a laugh, and extended his right hand across the counter. “My real name’s kinda boring, so why don’t you call me by my friends use — Double-J.”

“Double-J.” Jen took his hand. “Good to meet you.”

“Likewise.”

Jen turned, keys shifted to right hand and handbag slung back over her left shoulder, and walked swiftly out the front entrance, towards her car.

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