Page 24

A man I recognize from last night walks out of the workshop, wiping his hands on a rag.

“New girl!” Knox calls with a grin. “Having car problems?”

“Her name is Blair, dickhead,” Dean says without looking up from the trailer.

“Right,” Knox replies slowly, looking between us. “Blair.”

Dean shoots him a warning look.

Interesting.

“Apparently my baby has betrayed me,” I explain, gesturing toward the Kombi.

Knox studies the van. “You call it your baby?”

“Don’t start,” Dean mutters.

Knox lifts both hands in surrender. “I didn’t say anything.”

“No, but your face did,” I tell him.

“That seems to be happening a lot today,” G’s voice echoes in my head.

Together, Dean and Knox roll the Kombi into the garage. Dean opens the rear engine compartment and braces both hands against the metal as he leans over it.

He fiddles with a few things I couldn’t name if my life depended on it before looking toward Knox.

“Start her up,” Dean instructs.

“You got it,” Knox replies before climbing into the driver’s seat.

The engine coughs and sputters.

Dean’s brow furrows as he listens. He reaches into the engine compartment, adjusts something and pulls his hand back, wiping his fingers on the rag tucked into his pocket.

There’s something unfairly attractive about watching a man know exactly what he’s doing.

Especially when his forearms flex while he does it.

“Well, my first guess was right,” Dean says, pulling me out of my thoughts.

“The carburetor’s filthy, and the fuel mixture is off. It needs a proper clean and adjustment, but I don’t think you’ve done any serious damage.”

I stare at him. “I understood approximately six words of that.”

His mouth lifts into a smirk. “Nothing catastrophic. She isn’t getting the right mixture of fuel and air. I’ll clean the carburetor, make a few adjustments and she should run properly again.”

“See, that I understood,” I say, pointing at him and clicking my fingers.

Earth, swallow me whole for being such a fucking dork.

“Figured I’d skip the mechanic language,” Dean replies.

“How much am I looking at?” I ask reluctantly.

“Nothing major.” Dean wipes his hands on the rag. “A couple hundred, give or take.”

I groan. “There goes every dollar I made last night.”