Page 8 of Moonlit Kisses

–max–

Pullingin behind my workshop first thing, the sun barely peeking over the horizon, my eyes narrow as a low‘what the fuck’escapes my mouth. Parked in my fucking spot is a navy two thousand and one Jetta sedan. Nobody ever parks behind here, because the bays are solely for the use of the business owners within this precinct. Each of the businesses here has an apartment above the workspace, so most of the other bays are already in use.

I used to live in mine until I started earning enough from the business to buy my home ten minutes down the road. As much as I love working with cars, I hated the smell of oil and other chemicals invading my home; I needed to have a separate space to live. Parking off to the side, I climb out of my car to inspect the unwelcome car parked in my space.

Looking around the backlot of my workshop, I notice nothing else out of place. I bend down enough to peer through the windows, which are slightly cracked open. My eyes widen as they land on a young woman asleep in the semi-reclined driver’s seat. I glance in the back—there’s too much stuff packed in the backseat to allow it to recline fully. As I scan the interior, it looks as though everything she owns is packed into the compact car. My eyes drop back to the woman, and I study her closely.

She’s fucking beautiful.

She’s young, really young, with clear pale skin and even paler hair. She’s what I’d imagine an angel looks like. I watch her sleep for a few moments, her almost white hair fanned around her face, her thick lashes resting on the apples of her cheeks—fucking stunning. I wonder what color her eyes are? Not that I should care what color her eyes are. If she’sthatbeautiful, she’s probably a self-absorbed bitch, like my ex. I don’t need another one like her in my life. She must be fucking uncomfortable because she looks tall, too tall for the space she’s using as a bed.

It doesn’t appear the interloper will wake up anytime soon.

“What the fuck?” I whisper.

I’m incredulous that my car pulling into the lot didn’t wake her up. I have a mind to move my car, so it blocks this woman in. I don’t want her sneaking off before I can have a word with her about her sleeping arrangements and parking where she’s not welcome.

In fact, that’s what I think I’ll do.

Walking back to my car, I climb in and start the engine, which sounds deafening in the quiet of the morning. I move in behind her, meaning she’ll have to come find me when she wakes. Cutting the engine, I lock my car, then check on the sleeping beauty. She must be out of it, because she hasn’t stirred an inch.

Shrugging, I disarm the alarm to my workshop and slide open the heavy steel double door. Stepping inside, I turn on the overhead lights and unlock the front door on my way to my compact office to start the coffee machine. It was the one luxury I afforded myself when I was setting this place up. Why skimp on coffee if it’s the thing that’ll get me through my workday?

Toby’s bringing his car in for a service today, but I need to finish working on the Lincoln before nine, so I drink my coffee as I turn on my laptop and then head into the workshop to get started. Lost in fitting the new radiator into place, I hit my head on the hood at the feminine voice calling out from the doorway. Glancing across, I find the young woman who was sleeping in her car out back. Stepping away from the car, I grab a nearby rag to wipe my hands as I walk across to her.

“Uh, hello. Is that your car blocking me in?” Her voice is sure, full of confidence, even though she must know that she shouldn’t park where she is.

I was right. She is tall. I keep enough space between us to be polite. “Is that your Jetta?” I tip my head toward her car, parked in my space. I know full well it’s hers because I watched her sleep like a creeper.

She swallows and turns her head in the direction I gestured as if to check I’m asking about her car, then back to me. “Yeah.”

“You know that’s a private parking space on private property reserved for the business owner? Right?” I ask, keeping my voice even. I cross my arms and her eyes drop, widening slightly as she watches the action.

“Uh, sorry. I’ve,” she waves her arm out toward her car, “been driving solid for days, only stopping for gas and to nap. It was too late when I arrived last night to … uh … get a room somewhere. I pulled in here because it looked like a safe place to stop and get some sleep. I’m sorry if I’ve inconvenienced you. As soon as you move your car, I’ll be outta your hair.” She takes a step back from me.

“Where’d you come from?” Her accent suggests she’s not from anywhere close by, because I can’t quite place it.

She tucks a lock of silky-looking hair behind her ear.Gray. Her eyes are gray. “Portland, Maine.”

“What?” The word comes out harsher than I mean it to. “You,” I point to her, “drove all that way on your own, in that fucking car?” I wave my arm out toward her car. Is she fucking crazy?

Her posture visibly changes.

Straightening.

Stiffening.

With her spine straight as a board, her shoulders drawn back tight pushing out her round tits—stop noticing her tits, you perv!—she snaps out, sharp as a whip, “Yeah, I did.” Her gray eyes are blazing hot, her cheeks flushing. Fuck, she’s gorgeous.

No, she’s not. She’s too fucking young. Stop looking at her.

I stride over to her car—even with her long legs, she almost has to run to keep up with me—and reach inside to release the hood. Stepping around to the front of the car, I set the hood on the prop and begin checking the connections, fluid levels, and hoses.

“What are you doing?” She follows every move I make with her eyes.

One of my pet peeves is people not treating their car right and expecting it to keep on running. “You’ve barely got any water in your radiator. You could have blown up your engine.”

She pushes in beside me, the top of her head coming to my chin, eyes wide. “Really? Thank goodness I made it then.” She looks around. “Do you have a hose? I’ll fill it up.”

---