Chapter 14:

Ross and Christmas watched as Sam and Tool cleaned up the mess left by the cat fight. Gunnar had gone off in search of Jack, in hopes of calming the wild girl down and bring her to some sort of common sense.

"Well that went better than I thought it was going to," Christmas said with an over dose of his dry, British sarcasm.

"Quiet you," Ross was in no mood. It had gone better than they had hoped, yes, but that doesn't meant it went well.

"Think Gunnar will be able to talk Jack into calming down?" Christmas asked, looking over at Sam as she helped Tool clean up.

"I hope so," Ross said, admiring the backside of their new addition. "It'd be sad to have to send one of them packing."

"Very," Christmas said, following Ross' line of sight. "Those pants aren't much of anything until they get tight, now aren't they?"

Ross snapped out of it. "I don't have a clue what you're talking about, Christmas," he said, clapping the other man on the shoulder, pushing off from the pillar he'd been leaning on. It was midafternoon, and there were no jobs lined up. Ross was feeling restless; he needed to do something to clear the cobwebs out of his head.

"I think I'm going to go to Church," he announced. Maybe he could find out more about Sam Dominey and this assault charge from when she was still in the army.

"Thought you said he didn't have any work?"

"Think I might see if I can find some more dirt out on our friend there," Ross said, gesturing to Sam. "Maybe he can help us decide which crazy woman we should keep on staff if it comes down to having to choose."

"It's a hard choice," Christmas said, still admiring the tight ass of the prone girl.

"Made any easier considering one is a psycho bitch with only a mild interest in teasing your wanting British cock?"

"And the other?"

"A possible psychotic ex-army officer who assaulted multiple military personnel and is pretty much an ice queen."

"An ice queen with a very hot ass," Christmas added.

"Yes, a very hot ass," Ross agreed. "Does that make us dirty old men?"

"Yes."

"Oddly, I'm okay with that."

"Me too," Christmas said, turning his eyes away from the scene. "Let us know when you find anything out?"

"Will do," he said, offering a sloppy salute to Christmas as he left.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the garage:

"You know, those two horn dogs on the other side of the shop have been starring at that fine ass of yours this whole time," Tool whispered to Sam. He smirked when she blushed. "Sweetheart, you're going to have to get a thicker skin if you're going to be sticking around."

"I know," she said, shaking her head. "I'm just... I don't..."

"You don't like men lookin' at you like you're a woman?" Tool offered.

She made a face, tilting her head to the side, raising an eyebrow, rolling her eyes and making a semi grimace with her mouth. "I guess," she finally admitted with a shrug.

"You gotta own it," Tool said, straightening up and helping Sam back to her feet. "Face it, hide it as much as you want with those baggy pants, but people are still going to see it."

She blushed deeper and tried to look away.

"That's the difference between you and Jack," he urged. "Well, that's the thing she has that you don't. You've got the basic bones, but you don't have the sauce." He made a gesture, wriggling his hips, putting his hands up at his chest to mimic breasts.

Sam couldn't help but giggle.

"Why're you so guarded? You're awful pretty when you smile," he said, leaning over his bike, shooting her a questioning glance.

She shrugged. "Pretty doesn't affect the way I shoot," she said in a flat manner. "Been my experience that good looks actually make the job just that much harder. Life's easier when they think of me as one of the guys."

"Then get used to losing the man you want to girls like Jack," he said with a wink.

She blushed deeper again.

"Gunnar isn't Jack's yet, but you might consider Christmas," he said. "If I can be so bold."

"Mixing business and pleasure has never worked out well for me..." she shrugged. "I'd rather just..."

"Be alone?"

"It's better than being hurt."

"Pull up a chair and tell Daddy Tool what they did to you," he said, swinging a leg over his bike and gesturing to the tattoo chair.

"I'd rather not," she said shaking her head. "I'll talk to you tomorrow."

Sam gathered her jacket and helmet and rushed out of the shop.

"I will find out," Tool said to no one inparticular. "I will find out."