“Well, it’s a signal to mechanics everywhere that you’re desperate.”
Her eyes brighten. “You’re a mechanic?”
“My shirt didn’t give it away?”
“Well, you’re the answer to my prayers.” She steps closer, pointing to the name on my work shirt. “Mr. Moxon, I can tell by all the grease you must have been working hard all day. Thank you for stopping to help.”
“Would you like to help wash it off?”
She barks out a laugh. “Just how full of shit are you?”
“Guess you’ll have to grease my monkey to find out.” My voice is playful and it’s obvious I’m nothing but a flirt. This woman, though, isn’t like other women. She stirs something inside me, something powerful. I want her in a way I have never wanted anyone.
“So, your phone work out here?” she asks. “I just switched providers and apparently I chose one that’s crap.”
I pull out my phone to call the shop, noticing that a few other women have left texts during the roadside conversation. I ignore them, knowing none of those women hold a candle to the one in front of me.
“The engine got wonky and now I’m going to be late,” she continues.
“I can take you,” I tell her, already knowing there’s no way in hell I’m leaving without her.
She twists her lips. “Take me where?”
“Where do you think?”
She doesn’t answer, and I run a hand over my jaw, looking her over once more. Damn, I like what I see. Curly black hair, tits that are full -- just the way I like them. Curves and a nice, round ass under that dress of hers. An ass that I could hold onto while she rides me. I can tell she’s taking her time looking me over as well. And when she licks her lips, I know she is imagining things.
Filthy things.
I force myself to focus and call the shop. I explain the situation to my brother Mike. “Yeah, it’s a powder blue Beetle. Vintage. I know, right? Anyways, looks like the timing belt blew. Yeah, saw her out here on Route 44. The Shell station’s a good ten miles away. Nah, it’s no problem, I’ll drive her home. See ya tomorrow, Mike.” I drop the phone in my pocket, rubbing my hands together, dreaming about rubbing them over her bare skin. “Let’s close this hood. The tow truck won’t get here for forty minutes and you’re in a hurry, right?”
“You’ll drive me, you’re sure?”
“I’m sure, darling.”
She narrows her eyes, pressing a finger to my chest, wanting me to know whose boss. “Millie. Remember?”
I smile, unable to take this pretty thing too seriously. “Whatever you say, sweetheart.”
2
MILLIE
Okay, he’s hot. I admit that.
But I am not some silly girl like he seems to think. And I know it’s what he thinks. I saw his lips curl into a smile when I put my hands on my hips and told him what’s what.
“So, tell me,” he says, his voice low and gravelly, causing a tingle to run up my spine. “Why are you in such a hurry to get to FedEx?”
He looks over at me, but I lower my chin, unable to meet his eyes. I’m focused on his strong hands holding the steering wheel of his impressive pickup truck. His thumbs tap on the wheel and I decide I wouldn’t mind those hands tapping me.
The thought is ridiculous.
Almost too insane to consider.
He is wrong for me in every single way, including his chauvinistic attitude. And then there’s the fact his phone keeps pinging with texts. I see them coming in because his phone is perched on a stand to be used as a navigation device. Three different women’s names have texted in the three minutes we’ve been together. I saw the emojis--I understand the meaning. Hook-ups.
Some of that is appealing... the idea of a one-time fling with a sexy stranger.
But I’ve never dated a guy who works with his hands and I don’t know if I can handle such a real man. Somehow, every time I go on a dating app, I end up with a banker or an insurance agent.
Stable guys who are boring... reliable. Predictable. Safe.
And I get why I am drawn to the type. My dad is an amazing father. Always there for me growing up. He would be at every recital, every art show, every single thing. My mom died when I was young, and my dad never remarried. Instead, he devoted his life to raising me.
I always knew that when I grew up, I would choose a man like my father. A man who was present, who was available, and who was honorable. I’m not trying to get ahead of myself but I’m a twenty-three-year-old woman and am beginning to think about what might be next.
And even if my brain tells me I need a man who is safe, my body is telling me I need something risky.