Page 52 of Tuned To Break
He gasps dramatically. “I need a car. Any car. Please, Stella. This is my one shot. If I don’t show, she’ll think I bailed. She’ll never give me another chance. And she’s... perfect.”
He says it like it physically hurts him. Like missing this date might actually kill him.
I glance at Stella. She’s giving him that look—a mix ofyou’re a walking disasterandI sort of want to protect you anyway. Poor bloke’s completely unravelled.
“Logan, we can’t just give you a customer car,” she starts. “You could borrow my Corolla.”
“God, no. You have duct tape holding your front bar on. No offence, but you work in a restoration shop and still haven’t fixed it. I wouldn’t be caught dead in that thing.”
Judging by Stella’s expression, she’s definitely offended.
“There’s nothing wrong with Gertrude,” she snaps. “She’s reliable. Beggars can’t be choosers, Logan.”
“What about the Mustang?” he pleads, pointing at the pristine convertible still cooling behind me.
“Absolutely not.” Her tone goes full boss mode. “That car’s worth over sixty grand.”
“I’ll be careful! I promise! Ask Ella—I’m amazing at parallel parking!”
“Mate, parking’s not the same as navigating a classic with no power steering and a gearbox that fights back,” I tell him, shaking my head.
“I’m begging you!” He drops to one knee. “This is it! My one shot. She laughs at my jokes. Most of them. She agreed to coffee. Do you know what that means? She might actually like me!”
By now, the rest of the crew has clocked on. José’s poking his head out from under the hood of a Holden, Chase and Asher are openly eavesdropping, Parker’s leaning against the roller door like he’s watching sport, and even Robert’s lifted his welding mask to watch Logan grovel.
“Get up, you dramatic twat,” Stella mutters, but her mouth twitches like she’s trying not to laugh.
“I don’t care if I look pathetic. I’d rather lose my pride than lose my chance at love!”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I mutter, pinching the bridge of my nose.
Stella sighs. “What’s her name again?”
“Julia Blakely. Blonde, blue eyes, smells like?—”
“We know,” I interrupt. “Vanilla and heaven.”
Chase raises a brow. “You know she’s Arden’s little sister, right?”
That gets everyone’s attention.
Stella whips around. “What?!”
“Logan,” I say, dead serious, “do you have a death wish?”
“Maybe! Yes! No! I don’t know anymore! I’ve been trying for months!”
Her expression wavers. She’s trying to hold strong, but Logan’s desperation is hitting all her soft spots. She’s a sucker for a tragic love story—even one starring a hot mess of a bartender.
“What if I drive?” I offer. “Five-minute trip. I drop him off. No risk to the car.”
She opens her mouth to object, but Logan jumps in. “Please! I’ll never ask for anything again. Except maybe coffee recs. And tips. And maybe therapy referrals if this goes sideways?—”
“Logan,” she cuts him off, one brow raised.
“Right. Sorry. Please?”
The workshop has gone dead quiet except for the sound of José crunching popcorn. Where the fuck he got that, I have no clue.
