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“I want to see you tomorrow night, but I have to work. Come to the garage with me.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. Caden and Kale are working tomorrow night too. We can order a pizza or something. Say yes.”
“Yes.”
Clearly he liked my answer—his mouth captured mine and for a good long time we didn't say anything at all.
Chapter Seven
Bastian's garage wasn't what I was expecting. It wasn't just a place to work. It was like a family and their boss, Calvin Carter, was the reason. A nicer and more down to earth person I didn't think I'd ever met. His genuine friendliness immediately put you at ease and yet he was no pushover, you could see that in the set of his shoulders and the intellect shining out of his warm hazel eyes. Eyes that found mine as soon as we entered.
A smile curved his lips. “Bastian mentioned he was bringing his girlfriend tonight. I'm Cal.”
“Lark. Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise. There are jumpers in the back room if you want to get under the hood.”
I wouldn't know a carburetor from a brake line. “I think I'll just watch.”
“Don't let them eat all the pizza.” He leaned closer and added, “I usually take three slices and hide them because Caden has a bottomless pit for a stomach.”
“Good to know, thanks.”
“Aren't you staying?” Bastian asked.
“No, I've got to get home,” said Cal. “It's lasagna night.”
“No fair.” Hearing that whine from Caden made me grin.
“Next time, boys.” He started away from us but added, “If you want to punch out before eight, that's cool with me. Nice to meet you, Lark.”
“You too.”
Kale and Caden were already working. Their open blue jumpsuits exposed the tanks they had on underneath. They both called a hello to me before they got back to work. I had no idea what they were doing under the hoods of those cars, but clearly they were very comfortable doing it.
Bastian wore a similar jumpsuit, but he had the arms tied around his waist. His black tank beautifully showcased his inked arms. He kept his hair from his eyes by pulling it back with a bandana skullcap.
He walked me to the bay with the Impala where I settled on a stool near the worktable.
“There's soda in the fridge. Diet Coke, since I know you like it.”
He stocked my favorite soda in his work's refrigerator. “I think you like me,” I said teasingly.
“There's no think about it.”
He made no move to leave me, so I smiled and waved my hand at him. “Go. Do whatever it is you do; I'll be fine.”
He glided his lips across mine. “I'm really glad you came tonight.”
I had intended to work on my homework, but one look at him bent over the car looking so confident and sexy and I had to sketch him. I grabbed my sketchpad and pencils and lost myself in the drawing.
It felt oddly intimate to smooth out the line of his shoulder and blend it into the curve of his back. His profile set in firm lines while he worked. I took a moment to perfect the curve of his forehead, the line of his nose, the angles of his cheekbones and jaw, but it was the mouth that took me some time to perfect, especially in a face as sharp as his. I wanted to capture the sensual fullness of those lips, and when I ran my finger over the charcoal lines, I couldn't help my smile.
Once I was comfortable I had the overall image complete, I focused on his tattoos. His left arm had a depiction of the mythical creature the siren—half-beautiful woman and half-bird. Her wings matched the long flowing black of her hair. She sat on a cliff of green so bright it reminded me of pictures I'd seen of Ireland. Surrounding her, vibrant and cheerfully-hued flowers contrasted with angry, dark sapphire surf, which churned and crashed against the rocks. Her hands were extended in a delicate, almost ballerina-like, gesture as she lured the small sailboat toward her and certain death against the jagged shore.
His other arm depicted the Three Fates. Their hands all touched one long piece of string as Clotho spun the thread of life, Lachesis measured out how long a life it was to be and Atropos cut the thread in death. They weren't depicted as young and beautiful women, but as hooded figures working their thread in front of an old oak tree which I could only assume was the Tree of Life. Most of the work on his right arm was done in black with only accents of color like a green oak leaf, a golden pair of shears, and the thread of life itself which was a deep royal purple.
