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“Can I take a look?” he asks as he passes by me, leaving behind a cloud of his masculine scent.
Upon closer inspection, I realize he’s young, or at least younger than I thought at first—maybe early twenties? I also notice his lips are full and perfect. There’s a slash through the top one, and I instantly find myself wondering what it might feel like against my tongue.
“Sir?”
“Oh, yeah. Go ahead.” I hold a hand up, gesturing to the front of my car.
He hesitates, glaring at me with his brows pinched together. “I need you to open the hood for me,” he says in a bold command that sends a flash of heat all the way down my spine.
“Umm…” I open the driver's side door and crouch down in search of the lever to unlock the hood. I fumble around for a few seconds but can’t seem to find it.
“You don’t know where the hood latch is, do you?” I feel his presence behind me, and a wave of frustration rolls through me. I’m having a bad enough day/month, and I don’t need to be humiliated by a kid with a tow truck.
“I just forgot where it is,” I mutter. Pulling a handle, I hear a pop and stand up, relief consuming me. As he pins me between his body and my car, he looks down at me with a look of amusement on his face, and I notice that I barely come up to his chin.
“That was your gas tank.”
Dick.
Kneeling down again, I fumble for the handle, my temperature rising and making it difficult to focus. I freeze when I feel his arm brush mine. He’s towering over me from behind, and I breathe in the scent of cologne mixed with oil and gasoline. One of his hands lands on my arm as he crowds me, and though there is grease between his nails and caked into the prints of his fingers, I notice that it’s softer than I expected. It takes him exactly one second to find the lever under the dash, which results in a popping noise from the front of the car.
In my defense, I’m more of a ‘drop it off at the mechanic and let them deal with it’ kind of guy.
“Thanks,” I mumble as he walks away.
He inspects the car’s engine, pulling out and opening up parts I have absolutely no knowledge about, and I can’t seem to shake this sudden unnerved spell he’s put me under. How have I never seen him around town? Surely I’d remember a guy like him. He must be at least six-four, maybe five, and thosescars.His chin-length black hair hangs in his face as he messes around underneath the hood, and I try my damndest to look interested in what he’s doing, but I can’t imagine it’s very convincing.
“Try to start it for me.” Again with that commanding tone.
I drop into the driver’s seat and turn the ignition. The car sounds like it wants to start, but all it does is pop and rev without moving into a steady rhythm.
“Cut it!” he yells over the noise. Doing as he says, I take the key out and climb back out of the seat, just as he flips his hair out of his face.
Okay, that was hot.
“Looks like your radiator,” he says while inspecting the engine.
“Okay.” As if I have any clue what the fuck that means.
“I can tow it to the shop for you. I don’t think I have the parts, but I could have it done in a couple days.”
“That would be great, thanks.” I keep staring at his face, no matter how hard I try not to. I mean, it’s pretty damn hard not to. Those scars are not like any I’ve seen before, and the reporter in me wants the story—thewholestory. It literally looks like someone carved into this poor kid’s face. And they’ve faded to a light hue which means they’re old, probably something he got as a little kid.
“You can ride to the shop with me, unless you have someone coming for you…”
“No one is coming for me,” I blurt out so fast I surprise myself. What the fuck was that all about? It’s like I was trying to announce that I’m single, as if he fucking cares. That’s clearly not what he was asking.He’s not hitting on you, you fucking pervert.
He slams the hood shut, and I notice the way his gaze lingers on me for just a second, and it’s enough to send chills down my spine.
When he goes back to his truck, he throws it into reverse and lines it up with mine. I watch in some sort of erotic fascination as he hoists the chain out of the truck, setting everything up on my car and effortlessly chaining it to the rear of the truck.
Did he just make loading a tow truck sexy?
If I were in the middle of a dry spell, I’d assume this strange interest was due to needing to get laid, but I got lucky, not once, but twice this weekend. In fact, that’s where I was headed home from, a sleepover at my FWB’s—friend with benefits. Nico and I have been carrying on a no-strings-attached hookup for a couple years now. It’s completely casual and not at allcoupley.He’s pushing his late twenties, and I keep waiting for him to give me the nudge that he’s ready to settle down, but it hasn’t really happened yet, and honestly, I don’t know how I’ll feel when it does. I like Nico, and we have a good time together, but the idea of forever with him doesn’t exactly get meexcited.
“Ready to go,” Mr. Tall Tow Truck Man barks, jerking his head toward the cab of the truck and signaling for me to get in. As I step up into the seat, the first thing I notice is just how much it smells like him, a combination of cologne and grease with a hint of mint and air freshener. I don’t know why, but it reminds me of my teenage years, and I’m hit with a wave of nostalgia, inciting a wave of memories of making out with various boys in cars that smelled like this. I’m pretty sure I gave my first hand job in a truck like this. Back then, I was so sexually pent-up and frustrated, desperate to get it out, I let any guy who wanted to touch me have his way. They were good fucking times.
The mechanic is staring at me with a quizzical brow, and I glance his way after buckling my seatbelt.
