Page 30 of Sir, Yes Sir

I tore my eyes away from the curves that stupid pencil skirt gave her, trying to get my brain on other things as she went to retrieve her tacos.

“Text me your address,” she said to me over her shoulder as she took the box of amazing smelling tacos toward the dealership.

Guess she wasn’t planning on eating in the parking lot.

I didn’t bother answering. Freya was already gone, expecting me to do whatever the hell she said. And I would, because I was a glutton for punishment.

“Goddammit!” I hissed, snatching my stinging knuckles from the fucking engine block.

That damn clutch was going to be the death of me.

While I considered the value of just renting an engine lift, I heard a car pull up to my humble little ranch-style rental.

The thing was only mine for about nine or ten months while the owner was out of town, but it was pretty nice to have something all my own, even if the damn thing was pretty empty.

“Already started without me?” Freya asked from her parking spot on the street.

“You’re late!” was all I called back.

“Yeah, well, we had someone buy a car right before closing, so I had to run their financials for Dad.”

“Mhmm,” was all I hummed, sticking my hand back down into the crack between the engine and transmission.

“So, what specifically are we working on?” she asked, her ponytail swinging as she swaggered up in her work clothes.

“You’re going to ruin your outfit,” I warned, still stuffing my hand down as hard as it would go.

The blood on my knuckles was actually helping me slip a little further in.

“Let me, let me,” Freya said eagerly, hiking up her skirt so she could climb further up onto the engine.

“It’s the pilot bearing on the clutch,” I admitted, yanking my hand back as she started to tip onto the greasy engine.

“The pilot bearing?” she murmured, looking around the racks to see if she could see it. “You usually have to take the engine or the transmission out to get to the clutch, Ash.”

For some reason, I absolutely loved that she’d started calling me Ash, too. As if she was an equal, like her father.

“I fucking know that. I’m not an idiot. But taking the engine out is a shitton of work and I think there’s enough room to wiggle a wrench in and get that bearing out. I can almost get it myself.”

“You know,” she said with a grunt, flicking her heels off while she tried to climb further in, dipping her hand in the hole down to the clutch. “Dad wouldn’t mind you bringing it in and using the engine lift at the shop after hours. He’d trust you to lock up.”

“Yeah, maybe if your little hands can’t fit, either,” I admitted. “I won’t have a choice.”

She hummed in agreement, fishing around with a serious, concentrated look on her face.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, dipping her arm further down than mine ever got. “I can feel it! Give me the thirteen mil, and I’ll see what I can do.”

So, I handed the wench over and sure enough, the girl got off a nut.

“Ash,” she said after another minute of grunting and moving around the wrench. “This isn’t going to work. What happens after we get the clutch loose? We can’t bring it up through this gap.”

“Sure we can,” I said, leaning over where she was working.

She gave me a deadpan look and pulled her hand out, but two fingers about an inch and a half apart, then proceeded to bang her knuckles on the little slot between her and the clutch.

“No, it won’t,” she assured me, finally moving and sitting up under the hood.

There was a grease stain across her light pink tank top and I couldn’t take my damn eyes off it. It smeared right across the curve of her left breast.

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