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“… Yeah,” he says, blinking at me. “Why?”
“Would you rent it to us for a day—maybe two?” I ask, eyelashes fluttering. “For five thousand pounds?”
“Fivethousand?” Fraser repeats, aghast beside me.
I give him an airy smile. “Someone told me, money can solve most problems.”
“Are you joking?” The kid looks back and forth between us, agape.
“Nope!” I elbow Fraser, who reluctantly grumbles in agreement.
“It’s for real. We’ll pay.”
The kid whistles. “Shit, for five grand, you canhavethe clunker.”
He grabs a set of keys and flips the sign over the door to ‘closed’. “She’s round the back,” he says, leading us out of the shop and down a narrow alleyway. “Gears stick if you change too fast, and there’s a broken windscreen wiper, but she’ll get you where you need to go, no worries.”
He comes to stop and gestures with a proud smile. “There you go!”
Fraser snorts in disbelief. “That’s a car?”
The kid looks offended. “Course she is. Fixed the engine up myself.”
“Does it run on glitter slime?” I can’t help but ask, laughing, because what we’re standing in front of looks more like a clown car than an actual functioning vehicle.
A Volkswagen Beetle.
An ancient, lurid yellow VW Beetle, that looks barely big enough to fit Fraser’s broad shoulders.
“So, the cash?” the kid asks hopefully.
“You heard him,” I tell Fraser with a smirk. “Pay the man for his fine vehicle. And by the way, you’re definitely driving!”
11
JJ
We squeezeinto the yellow clown car and get on the road—after a brief lesson from the kid about what sticks, grinds, groans, and is a wee bit jammy.
“But it should get you there fine, mate,” he insists, happily clutching his check for five thousand. “No worries!”
I do have worries, but not about the car. Once Fraser is behind the wheel, we’re practically arm-to-arm in the front seat; those sexy tanned arms temptingly close.
“Happy now?” He glowers at me over the stick shift.
I grin. “Actually, yes. We have wheels now, and plenty of time to get to Hugo and back. What’s the drive to Glasgow from here, anyway?”
“Why don’t you make yourself useful and find out?”
I pull out my phone to plot a route for us, as Fraser turns the engine on, and struggles to put the car in reverse. “You need to coax it, gently,” I remind him.
He sighs. “I know how to drive.”
The gears grind louder.
“But the kid said—”
“I’ve got it!” Fraser roars, yanking the stick shift into position, and reversing down the alleyway.
