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An appointment, my ass.
In JP’s world, an appointment most likely meant a booty call. The irresponsible jerk.
“You wanna know where this vehicle is or what?”
“Yeah, gimme a second.” He reached for the pen in his center console. “Okay, shoot.” As Ronnie rattled off the location of the broken-down vehicle, he scrawled it on the side of his fast-food wrapper. “Got it, thanks. I’ll swing by and relieve you of the phone on my way into town.”
“Thanks, big bro. See you soon. And hey, it was a woman who called. Try cracking a smile while you’re rescuing her. Who knows where it’ll lead you?”
She ended the connection before he had a chance to tell her to fuck off. His sister loved nothing more than trying to get him a girlfriend. “Smile at her,” he muttered. Just what he was in the mood for, a whiny damsel in distress who couldn’t even change a tire.
He drove with one hand while scarfing down the now-cold Big Mac with the other. It didn’t take him more than five minutes to pull his truck up behind a broken-down Audi SUV on the side of a quiet one-lane highway. They were only about a mile from where he lived with a few of his siblings.
After parking his rig, he wiped his oily hands on his jeans and then approached the vehicle. Letting out a low whistle, he took in the classy car. The Audi SUV wasn’t as flashy as some luxury vehicles, but this baby could run the owner close to a hundred Gs. It was the kind of car one bought when financially loaded but not wanting to flaunt themselves as a rich prick.
The dome light was on, giving him a clear view of the woman sitting in the driver’s seat with her head on the headrest and eyes closed. Keith would be lying if he didn’t admit part of him relished the idea of scaring her out of her wits for the inconvenience of sucking up his time. Maybe it’d motivate her to learn to change her own damn tires. Of course, if everyone did that, he’d be out a substantial portion of his business. But his Friday nights would be a whole lot more relaxing.
He rapped his knuckles against the window with a little more force than necessary.
With a high-pitched yelp, the woman sprang forward. Her hand hit the horn which blared into the quiet night and made her squeal again. With a mumbled curse, she pressed a hand to her heaving chest.
“Keith Benson, ma’am. I’m here to change your tire,” he said through the closed window as he fought a laugh.
She glared at him through the window as she grabbed the door handle. “Back up.”
He did, which allowed her to shove the door open. When she stepped out, still breathing heavily, she scowled a perfectly made-up face at him. “Jesus, would a gentle tap on the window have killed you?”
“Didn’t think you’d hear it. Seemed like you were out cold.”
She sniffed, one of those rich-lady, patronizing sniffs. “I was resting my eyes.”
“Whatever. You got a spare?” In less than five seconds, he’d sized up her type. Wealthy. Snobby. Judgmental. Frigid in bed.
Hard pass, despite the fact she was objectively beautiful. Slender without being stick skinny, though she did have some meat to her ass, she probably topped out at about five-eight. Her light brown hair was styled in a chic, chin-length bob that made her beautiful face stand out. He’d always been a sucker for a lady with glasses, and she had black-rimmed ones that made her look like she walked out of a fantasy role play video. Especially when combined with skinny jeans, a fitted gray sweater, and knee-high boots. The prim and proper, conservative stick-in-the-mud look he loved to mess up.
Too bad those types tended to be bitches who looked down their surgery-perfected noses at his less than glamorous lifestyle.
“Hello? Did you hear me?” she asked, head tilted. Now it was her turn to inspect him, and her assessing expression didn’t morph into an impressed one. Big surprise there: woman in her ninety-thousand-dollar car isn’t instantly smitten with the dirty, tattooed mechanic who stopped to help her change her tire. Someone better alert the porn writers they were way off base.
“What?” he said, though to her it probably sounded more like an animal grunting.
“I said it’s in the trunk.”
Damn, the woman had some smooth, full, kissable lips.
“The spare?” One of her perfect eyebrows arched.
Shit. She was too distracting. He needed to get laid. How fucking long had it been?
Way too long if it took more than ten seconds to remember. Well, it wasn’t gonna happen now, so he might as well get on with changing the tire.
“Got it. This’ll be quick,” he said as he strode to her trunk. “I don’t have these fancy tires in stock, but I can get them from the dealership. Tomorrow, next day at the latest. You shouldn’t do too much driving on the donut.”
