Page 43 of The Opposite of Romance
Long, dirty blond hair, thick beard, his shoulders the width of my fridge. And the tattoos, did I mention the tattoos?
We both ogle him like deer caught in headlights and he stares right back with a piercing blue gaze.
Finally, he speaks, “Can I help you?” The sentence is polite, but the tone of his voice is low and gravelly. More of a warning than an actual question.
“Yes,” Sandy pants out, and I jump in to save the day.
“Yes. Well, I hope so.” Smooth. “My car won’t start. And I need it. To pick my kids up.” I point my thumb back, though I have no idea what direction I’m pointing at. “From school.”Dear brain, can I please stop talking? Now.
Luckily, my brain shows me mercy and I say nothing else. He’s still staring at me, like he’s trying to figure me out.
“How did you get here?”
“My sister drove me.” I point to Sandy, who’s basically drooling. “My car is still in front of my house, unfortunately.”
“It’d be hard to fix, since it’s not here.” He shrugs, bending down under the hood of the car he’s obviously working on. Not that I even noticed it when I first walked in.
“Well, yes. You’d have to come with. To fix it,” I say.
He doesn’t lift his head from under the hood, and nerves wreak havoc on my stomach.
“Look,” Sandy interferes, “my sister needs your help. She’s recently divorced,” I level her with a glare, but it doesn’t stop her, “trying to survive as a single mother. She’s lonely and horny and forced to do everything on her own now. Besides, she’s willing to pay well for it.”
I elbow her in the arm because she took this way too far, but he finally lifts his head, along with a single brow, wiping his huge hands on an already dirty rag.
“Hmmpft.” He lets out an incomprehensible sound.
“Please,” I add, because I’m desperate.
“When I finish this,” he responds, his head hidden under the hood once again.
Oookay.I widen my eyes at Sandy, and she widens them rightback. Stella chooses that moment to let out a wail, startling the both of us.
The mechanic’s head lifts in a scowl, and Sandy rushes to get out of the shop.
“Will you be ok?” she mouths.
“Yes. I might be a gang member the next time you see me, though.”
“I wouldn’t mind joining a gang for that guy.”
By the end, we’re more whispering than mouthing, but hopefully the Viking guy can’t hear us. We both chuckle under our breaths. She sends me a kiss and leaves me.
I turn my gaze back to the guy, whose name I still don’t know. I’m not sure if he’s actually in a gang, but he obviously lacks some basic politeness. Still, I don’t feel unsafe. As a woman, I developed the gut instinct to keep me alive years ago. So far, it has been right. And this place, this man, doesn’t make my stomach churn. It does a lot of things to it, but not in a negative way.
“So lonely, horny and forced to do everything on your own?” he says, not raising his head.
“She’s over-exaggerating,” I respond, though she’s definitely not. Matter of fact, just standing here looking at him is making my pussy wet, the bitch starving.
“I could help you with that.”
“Well, I’m sure hoping you can fix my car.” I let out a nervous chuckle.
“Hmmpft.”Is that a gang word of sorts?
Ten minutes later, he closes the hood. Setting a few of the tools down, he washes his hands and exits the shop. He doesn’t close the door, so I take that as a sign to follow him. The outside air is refreshing compared to the heavy smell of gas inside of the garage. Stumbling after him, I notice him speaking under his breath to another guy with a leather jacket. The other guy looks scared while the Viking looks annoyed.
“Deal with it,” I hear him bite out vaguely before the other guy scurries away.
