AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Normally, I’m careful about my handwriting, always ensuring it’s legible to make other people’s lives easier when reading it, but this time I couldn’t give two shits about Shane’s convenience.
Yes, scribbled writing is a petty stab at the asshole who I’m starting to believe was born solely to ruin my life, but it’s all I’ve got at the moment.
To add insult to injury, I purposely write the wrong information, scribble that out and then write the correct information in teeny tiny letters it’ll take a microscope to read because fuck him.
Once I’m done, I ball up the contract and leave it that way in the pile of junk littering the reception desk. It’s yet another level of petty I’m not willing to admit to, but again … fuck him.
Satisfied with that, I turn around and watch as he inspects my car.
Shane reaches up when I first turn, wiggling one thing before poking at something else. Moving slowly and with absolute focus, he checks the car over, running his long fingers along one part before his eyes seek out another part or follow some wire or line.
I become fascinated with the view, like you would watching an artist put paint to canvas.
He’s obviously completely careful in the job he’s doing, fastidious and sure of himself, but there’s something else. Almost as if I can plainly see the love he has for everything oiled and greasy, the moving parts a puzzle for him to figure out or a work of art he can’t stop admiring.
His long legs walk with a powerful stride as he moves from one end of the car to the other, back and forth, for what reason I’m not entirely sure.
One thing is for sure… He’s a man confident in his skin. One who owns the space around him. And this environment is very much home to him. The truth of that is plain as day.
I wonder again what a man like Shane was doing at the governor’s mansion. He doesn’t belong among the highbrow and snooty. He’s too down to earth, at least when he’s working on cars.
Unsure of how much time is passing, I continue staring, my cheeks flaming with embarrassment when he suddenly turns and catches me. The prideful grin that tilts his lips reminds me why I hate him.
“Caught you looking,” he playfully teases as he makes his way back to me, his voice a deep purr.
“I was just making sure you weren’t poking holes in other parts to make the job more expensive,” I lie.
“Sure you were.”
Approaching the desk, he uses his thumb and forefinger to pick up the crumpled contract. A bark of laughter shakes his shoulders. He calmly flattens it out again before grabbing a pen to fill out his portion.
Imagine my surprise when he hands it to me with neat, perfectly legible handwriting, despite the way I had not so carefully filled in my information.
You can also imagine my surprise when I look at the price.
“Twelve hundred dollars?”
My eyes fly up to meet his. “Priest said it would be—”
Holding up a hand to cut me off, he says, “Stop listening to Priest. He’s not handling this job.”
My eyes are back on the paper.
Shane has written down several issues that need fixed, most of which I’ve never heard of. Although my dad taught me some things about cars, he never taught me how to build one.
“I don’t understand. Do I need all of this to get out of here?”
Shaking his head, he leans against the desk, one hand splayed on the surface while he tucks the other in the pocket of his coveralls. I hate that my eyes trace down the visible tattoos on his corded forearm, along farther over each long finger, bits of grease marring his skin.
It looks good on him.
I hate that it looks good on him.
“Your car is what? Six years old? When’s the last time you had any work done on it?”
His deep voice interrupts my thoughts, and I look up from his fingers, my pulse beating a little quicker to find he’s staring at me.
But then I remember I can’t stand him, and I shake myself of whatever bullshit attraction I felt.
