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Cameron

North Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

Iwipedawayabead of sweat as it trickled down my neck. It was impossible to concentrate today, and it had little to do with the Indian summer turning the garage into a sauna. Or that my back ached from lying under this ’71 Mustang all morning because the car hoist was on the fritz again.

No. This was all my brother’s fault. My anxiety ramped up each day Justin continued to ignore my calls and messages. Most frustrating of all was I didn’t know if I should be pissed off or concerned about his latest disappearing act. Flipping between the two states like Jekyll and Hyde was exhausting.

Damn you, Justin. Why haven’t you called me back?

I’d throttle him if he was on another bender. He might have gotten off with a suspended sentence for illegal substance possession, but one positive drug test and his parole officer would have him locked up. Justin didn’t have the fortitude to handle prison.

And what if he hadn’t called because he was in some kind of trouble? The prickling sensation shooting down my spine reminded me there were life situations worse than a correctional facility. Like being tossed into the Delaware with concrete shoes.

I shivered despite the stifling heat and relaxed my grip on the socket wrench. The last thing I wanted was to strip the thread on the Pony’s oil pan. My boss would give me a solid ribbing if I made a rookie mistake like that.

The low rumble of a V8 engine approached the parking lot. I blew a stray lock of hair from my face and rolled out from under the Mustang to admire the ’69 Chevelle as it came to a stop out front. Its cherry-red paint and chrome mag wheels glimmered in the sun. Still, it was no match for my ride parked two bays over.

After wiping my greasy hands on a rag, I tightened the messy bun on top of my head, then met the driver at his car.

“Morning. Can I help you?”

The man’s eyes raked over me as though he’d never seen a woman in overalls. With fists propped on hips, he squinted while searching for something in the garage behind me. The buttons on his Hawaiian shirt looked ready to pop around his bulging gut. There was something about his beady eyes and wire-framed glasses that reminded me of the annoying character Newman fromSeinfeld.

“Sure, sweetheart.” He grinned while adjusting his specs. “I’m looking for Tom.”

He didnotjust call me sweetheart. I shoved both hands in my pockets before he noticed me balling them into fists.

“He’s out for a while, but I’m his head mechanic. Is there a problem with your Chevelle?”

Newman’s eyes widened. “You’rethe head mechanic?”

I nodded but neglected to add that, apart from my boss, I was the only other mechanic who worked here.

He looked like a goldfish as his mouth opened and closed without uttering a word. What a jackass. His reaction shouldn’t surprise me. I’d seen it enough since I started here as a baby-faced apprentice almost ten years ago.

Hoping to dodge Newman’s foot-in-mouth problem, I fast-tracked the conversation. “Why don’t you tell me what’s going on with your car?”

He scratched his head and looked between me and the Chevelle. “It’s losing power, and the gauge says it’s running hot.”

“Mind if I take a look?” I strode to the front of his car before he had a chance to decline. “Pop the hood and start her up.”

He did as I asked, then stood nearby while I leaned over the engine and ran a few checks. I glanced at Newman, whose eyes weren’t on the car.

Ugh, what a creep.

My jaw clenched from holding in a smartass comment. Telling sleazeball clients what I thought of them was bad for business. Although, in this jerk’s case, it might be worth it.

I dropped the hood and cleaned my hands again. “You can shut her down.”

He did, then approached me once more. “Look, sweetheart, I think I’ll come back later and get Tom to do a proper inspection.” His insincere smile only added an extra foot to the crater he’d dug himself into.

Screw it.

I shoved the rag into my pocket and folded my arms. “Sure, you can do that. But I have to tell you, there’s something seriously wrong with your head.”

Newman recoiled and had the audacity to look shocked. “What did you say?”


Tags: Julie Weaver Team Zulu Romance