“Nah, but we’re catching up this week.”
His mouth flattens into an even tighter line somehow. “Good.” He sniffs. “She’ll be happy.”
Wyatt unzips then steps out of the coveralls, down to his usual—a dark Henley and a pair of charcoal Dickies. The grease and engine soot blend right in. I look down at my cargo pants and white tee. The shirt is fairly clean, I buy a new pack practically every week. But the pants are covered in swipes of at least a dozen different paint colors.
Now that I’m seeing just how messed up this pair is, I might beslightlyregretting not changing into something clean before dashing over here, but I didn’t want to miss her.
Today was my first day on the job, and yeah, sure, maybe I got a little bit of a late start, but it also took longer than I expected to finish the rooms I was working on today, and I didn’t have time to change first. But I’m here now and going to see it through, dirty pants be damned.
I had to know if last night was a fluke. If that instant attraction, that deep draw I felt toward her was just the full moon, or if my mind was playing tricks on me, knowing I’ll be sentenced to months of celibacy. Surely she wasn’t as hot as my libido has been telling me she was. Delicate features that scream innocence, with something lurking under the surface that tells me she’s anything but. And that sense of humor of hers, dark, but adorable at the same time… A blend all her own, Amelia hasn’t left my mind since I dropped her off last night.
On the side of the road when a girl is stranded and you’re her only hope isn’t exactly the time to make a move, as much as I might have wanted to. Plus, Amelia’s the kind of girl that seems like she’d run in a heartbeat if you pushed her the wrongway. Too shrewd to fall for a random pickup line. Asking for her number while I was her only recourse on a dark, deserted road would’ve probably spooked her and cost me a nut shot, if not worse.
But also, what would getting her number even do for me? If Wyatt fixes her engine in a day and she’s gone, what am I going to do? Write her sonnets and poems over text about how perfect her tits looked underneath that sweatshirt she was wearing? Send her dick pics like every other schmuck online (even if mine is worth looking at)? No thanks.
That girl’s a rolling stone if I’ve ever seen one, outside of the mirror. A day of stewing on it told me my only chance to see her again was gonna be right here, right now.
If Wyatt is gonna get her back on the road, I might as well shoot my shot with her before she’s gone, get my one night of happiness for the rest of my damn stay in town and have the memory of that night to hold me over until I’m out of here.
My brother stares at me, a question that he doesn’t bother to ask in his eyes.What are you doing here?
I thrust an arm out to point at my baby in the corner. “Came to see the Charger.”
Wyatt’s brow and quasi-beard twitch in a way that’s unusual.
Emotion on his face is what’s unusual.
Unease? Discomfort? Not sure, but also don’t care.
“You sure you’re not here to spy on a five-foot nothing spitfire?”
Pretending he didn’t just see right through me, call me out like that, I ignore the remark, heading over toward the dusty tarp, his weighted footfalls following me. In one swift motion, I yank the material that’s kept my baby safe for years and pull it away.
Dust and particles fly everywhere, but it doesn’t matter. I’m reunited at long last with my only real belonging of value. Mygrandfather’s legacy he left to me. It might not be the hectares and hectares of family land my brother got, but it’s a hell of a consolation prize.
The 1970 Dodge Charger in Go Mango Orange with black racing stripes.
Might get half-hard just looking at her, if my brother weren’t standing here ruining this moment for me and her both.
My boots crunch slowly over the sawdust-coated cement floor as I walk my way around the car, taking her in. I’d run my fingers along the side as I go, but I don’t want to disrespect her like that. She’s not some trashy, cheap ride to feel up, ride hard, and put up wet, abuse and turn into a rental car. She’s worthy ofworshipand reverence.
Small vehicles might be what I’m best at—they might be what you’d call a passion, if I were to have one. Not that I’ve done it much since leaving town, but motorbikes, ATVs, dirt bikes, the shit I grew up working on with my brother was the only job that ever had a piece of my soul. But this timeless beauty in front of me holds a special place in my heart.
She’s stunning.
Sleek, with curves in all the right places.
She might be a bit older than me, but I know how to treat her right and keep her happy.
Sure, she needs a little work, but don’t we all?
And damn if she isn’t still as gorgeous as ever, paint a little more pumpkin pie than vibrant mango these days, but that’s nothing we can’t fix.
I bet she’s missed me as much as I’ve missed her all this time. This might’ve been just a handy cover story to pop on by, but seeing this beast of a machine in front of my own eyes again, it’s reminded me what it felt like to drive her, feel her roar to life beneath me as we hugged the pavement of the curvy mountain roads, going faster than sensible when it was too dark to seebeyond the light of the moon. Fuck, I might actually get under that hood and make her purr again before I leave town.
I mean, look at her. Sexy, perfect body with—what the fuck is that? On the trunk?
The sound of tires rolling over gravel is in some distant corner of my awareness, but that’s not important right now.Whatis on my trunk?
