I take the card from her hands, on the front is her Beetle, tools strewn all around it. “That was one hell of an oil change.”
Inside, it reads, “P.S. We’re gonna need a bigger car.”
I look up at her, my heart racing. “Are you, are we...”
She nods. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Daddy.”
Prologue
Clementine
The car radio tries to blast my worries away. I tap my thumbs on the steering wheel as I drive toward the office supply store. Maybe not thrilling for everyone, but I have an obsession with Sharpies, Post-it notes, and desk-sized calendars.
Not exactly bringing sexy back with my errand, but considering I'm a student teacher, I figure it bodes well for my career.
As loud as it is, the song on the radio isn't exactly drowning out my worries. It's reminding me of my ex. It's a love ballad, and it brings me back to where I was a week ago. The breakup with a man who was no good for me.
The song belts out, Love that is forever will last a lifetime.
Not that we were in love. Not even close. Heck, we had never even slept together. After a month, he was frustrated. By two, he was mad. By three? Well, he was cheating.
No more. Next time I get the chance, I'm just gonna go all in. I'm going to forget about the things my mama told me, such as that I should make a man wait if I want him to respect me.
Well, what about my needs? What if I respect myself enough for the both of us?
Besides, I'm tired of my type-A personality holding me back. I may love to organize my lingerie, but I am sick of the only thing I reach for in that drawer being my battery-operated boyfriend.
I only stayed as long as I did with that loser because I wanted it to work. I want more than a ring on my finger, I want forever. I didn't think that was too much to ask.
But I'm over that dream. The getting married, being a wife and mother one. I'm only twenty-two for goodness’ sake and am in the process of applying for teaching jobs all over the state. I was fighting for a happily ever after with a man who I didn't even love. Not even kinda. He may have looked the part of my hubby -- khakis and polos and a crewcut -- but deep down, I knew he would never satisfy me.
Because when I close my eyes and dream up Mr. Right he certainly isn't driving a golf cart on his way to a Rotary meeting.
No, my dream man is a little dangerous and a whole lotta dirty.
The exact opposite of me: A virgin who shops at Anne Taylor, wears statement necklaces, and teaches kindergarten.
The lingerie drawer? It's full of kinky pieces: crotchless panties and fishnet bodysuits.
Let's just say they've never been put to proper use.
No more. Next time I will jump into bed on the first date because, as they say, you only live once.
Also, because I am horny AF.
It's time to do the damn thing.
The song ends, and I turn down the music before the commercials start. That's when I notice the weird putt-putt-putt of the engine. And that about forty-three lights start blinking on my dashboard. Then the car begins to lurch.
Of course, it does. Because as if being cheated on wasn't bad enough, I now need to deal with repair costs I can't exactly afford on my non-existent college student salary.
My car grinds to a halt in the middle of a busy intersection and I feel as frustrated as ever.
Then I look up and see my car died directly in front of an auto repair shop.
Fate. Destiny. Kismet.
Whatever it is, I'll take it. The stars have aligned.
And when a hulking mechanic looks up from the hood of a truck parked outside his garage, my heart lurches as hard as my car. I thought my frustration was all about my ex, but after one look at this mechanic, I realize I was oh so wrong.
This is called sexually frustrated. My thighs clench together, a tingle travels up my spine, and my heart begins to race.
Taking a slow, steady breath, I open my car door. I lick my lips, lift my eyebrows, and give him my brightest smile.
When he smiles right back I know I won't be sexually frustrated for long.
Chapter 1
Mike
Women are rarely happy when their cars break down.
I saw her car across the street, smoke billowing out of the tail and from under the hood.
But as she stands in front of me now, she doesn't look the least bit annoyed. In fact, she's smiling. Her pouty pink lips turned up in a smile, give me a reason to wipe my greasy hands on a towel and give her a grin.