Page 6 of Fast and Dirty

Preston: And what’s Autumn got to do with anything? You’re the one who left our fucking wedding!

Kira: Oops my phone is going dead. I’ll let you chew on exactly why I left that sham of a wedding since your poor tiny brain can’t seem to wrap around it. Oh and tell Autumn and her gyno I said fuck off!

And then my phone mercifully goes dead.

3

KIRA

Way past the point of feeling awkward or embarrassed, I gather up the skirts of my gown and flounce back into the main area of the auto shop. The stupid, fancy getaway car is up on a lift of sorts while West, the hot mechanic, stands beneath it, his body angled in a position that looks none-too-comfortable although he doesn’t seem to be bothered as he cranes his neck back, searching and tinkering around in the undercarriage.

Lucky car.

A toothpick protrudes from between his lips, and his eyes are cast hard in concentration until he hears the door shut behind me. He gives me a quick, cursory look before his eyes go back to his task.

“Hey, you doing okay?” he asks, while still focusing on the car and I can’t help but notice that he’s very in his element right now. Like the scruff of his jaw, the corded muscles in his forearms as he twists and wrenches at something, the mechanic shirt, the worn and dirty jeans; it’s all coming together with the smell of gas and oil, the clang of metal.

“Yeah,” I start, my voice a dreamy sigh before I jolt and straighten up, clearing my throat. “I was able to make one call,and then my phone went dead. Do you have a charger I could borrow?”

“You bet, just a minute,” he nods, still watching what he’s doing. God, even his voice is sweet but thick with dirty promises. “Were you able to get ahold of anyone?” He asks, this time bringing his arms down and regarding me as he tosses a soiled wrench onto a nearby tool cart and exchanges it for a just as dirty cloth that he starts wiping his hands on. They are covered in all kinds of dirt and soot, as well as those sinfully tanned forearms that flex with every movement.

I falter a little, bringing my shoulder up in an uncomfortable shrug. “I only really wanted to talk to one person, and he’s got a date tomorrow morning with a guy he’s been crushing on forever, so… yeah? I kind of told him not to hurry down to get me. So I was hoping you could point me in the direction of a hotel?”

He sighs heavily as he looks off to the side and I wonder what that’s about. Hopefully I’m not annoying, or burdening the guy. “The closest one is in Westbridge, the next town over,” he murmurs.

“Okaaay…” I respond, feeling a little nervous. “Is there something wrong? I sense a ‘but’ coming.”

“Oh,” his eyebrows relax and he shakes his head. “No there’s no problem, I’m happy to take you there.” He takes the toothpick out of his mouth and licks his lips.

Kegel!

“Let me grab you that charger, and you can use the office phone in the meantime to call the hotel.”

“Okay great,” I gather my dress up once again to follow him.

He clears his throat, looking nervous as he slows and moves beside me, taking hold of the part of my dress that’s still dragging. It’s a gesture I wouldn’t expect from the men in my world, and coming from this mechanic, who doesn’t even know me, it sends a glowing flicker through my body. There’s something sweet but sensual about it.

He must catch my look of dumbfounded wonder. “This place is filthy, not the best place for a …” he trails off as I continue to look between him, and his grease- and soot-covered hand holding my dress.

“Fuck,” he grinds out when he sees what he’s doing.

“It’s okay,” I tell him on a breath, as I’m still taken aback by this dangerously attractive man helping me carry my dress. “Not like I need it to stay pretty now,” I try to joke, lifting a shoulder.

“No, fuck. I’m sorry just - here …” he shuffles past, squeezing between me and a stack of tires and dammit he smells good. Like motor oil and bad decisions got together for a cool splash in a crystal lake.

“Do you have anything to change into?” He asks as he moves towards a door with a narrow window on it and pushes it open, sweeping a hand for me to pass.

“Yeah I’ve got my honeymoon suitcase in the trunk,” I mention and we both look up over our shoulder to regard the dumbass snooty car that’s up on the lift.

“Oh,” his chest rumbles with a lighthearted chuckle. “I’ll get that down as soon as I can, hopefully while you’re on the phone.”

The office is about what you’d expect, with fluorescent lighting, a metal desk and a very basic rolling chair. Although it is surprisingly organized, with a place for everything, and a cordless phone sits atop it on a charging dock. I hand my phone over to West, who plugs it into a charger that sits on top of a filing cabinet before pulling his own from his pocket. He makes a few taps on the screen as I sit on the chair and try not to admire his filthy, manly fingers. Preston’s hands were always nicely manicured and now the idea of them makes me sick because all of a sudden, all I want are this man’s hands all over me, dirt and all.

I get a whiff of his rugged scent once again as he leans over me to scribble a number on a yellow Post-it note.

God, universe, mother nature, whoever is out there… please, either kill me right now or give me an orgasm. I think it’s the least you could do. Thanks.

“That’s the number of the hotel,” he explains in a low grumble as he—sadly—leans away and heads towards the door. “I’ll check back in a few minutes,” he assures before ducking out of the room.

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