“Close. I’m restoring a car.”
I jump from my chair. “I want to see. Is it the Batmobile?”
“A minute ago, you wanted to roll into bed. Make up your mind, Little Trouble.”
“Okay, I changed my mind. I’m fickle. Sue me.” I walk to the door and open it, the scent of motor oil and metal hitting me.
“Wow.” My eyes drink in the sight before me. An old car stands in the center, jacked up without wheels. The hood is open, revealing the intricate maze of the engine. It’s painted in a gleaming black that looks fresh, catching the light from the single bulb hanging overhead.
Ryder stands behind me, pressing his chest to my back. His warmth envelops me, and I lean into him. “What do you think?” he asks, his breath tickling my ear.
I circle the car, my fingertips gliding along its sleek body. The fresh paint is smooth, cool to the touch. I trace the iconic curves, from the muscular haunches of the rear fenders to the long, predatory hood. The car seems to come alive under my hand, its lines flowing like liquid metal. I pause at the front, admiring the aggressive grille and the famous galloping horse emblem.
I turn to him, seeing the anticipation glimmering in hiseyes. This matters to him. “She’s beautiful. What kind of car is it? Is it some kind of Fast and Furious dream machine?”
He chuckles. “Not quite. It’s a Ford Mustang. I’ve done a lot of work on the engine. But she’s not ready yet. I was assigned to you, and everything stopped.”
I peer at the engine. “How did you get the parts?”
“Mostly eBay. It’s not cheap.”
“I’m sure.” I point to a board on wheels lying on the floor. “You use this to get underneath?”
“It gets the job done.” He shrugs.
A wicked thought crosses my mind. “Fuck, it must be sexy as hell to see you working on the car, dirty with grease, your muscles flexing. I’d jump you if I saw you working like that.”
“Oh yeah?” He raises an eyebrow, a challenge in his voice. “You into the whole mechanic fantasy?”
“Maybe. Are women working on cars sexy too?”
“Try it, and we’ll see.” He points to the board, daring me.
I’ve never backed down from a challenge, especially one that involves making Ryder hot and bothered. I flash him a wide smile and lie down on the board. “Prepare to be amazed by my non-existent car skills.”
Ryder looks down at me, amusement dancing in his eyes. “This should be interesting.”
I push myself under the car, the creeper board rolling beneath me. The underbelly of the Mustang looms above, a complex maze of metal and rust. The smell of oil and grease intensifies, filling my nostrils. It’s not the sexy mechanic fantasy I’d imagined—it’s cramped, dirty, and claustrophobic.
“How’s the view down there?” Ryder’s voice comes from somewhere near my feet, tinged with amusement.
I try to sound seductive, but my voice echoes oddly in the confined space. “Oh, just admiring your... undercarriage.”
His laugh reverberates through the garage. “I bet you say that to all the cars.”
I attempt to wiggle my way out, my shirt catching on something sharp.
“Ouch!” The screech of tearing fabric mingles with my yelp of surprise.
Ryder’s hands are on me instantly, pulling me out with careful strength. The fluorescent lights of the garage seem overly bright after the darkness under the car. I blink, disoriented, as Ryder’s concerned face comes into focus.
“What happened?” His eyes scan me, professional and worried all at once.
I look down, seeing the torn fabric of my shirt and a thin line of red underneath. “I think your car bit me.”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let you go under there.” Ryder’s face softens with concern, his fingers ghosting over the tear in my shirt. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
As he leads me back into the cabin, I notice the smudge of grease on his cheek and the way his t-shirt clings to his shoulders. Perhaps there’s something to this mechanic fantasy after all.
