Suddenly, the billionaire I was writing about in my novel seemed all wrong. His six-pack too artificial. Sex appeal wasn’t created in a gym with weights and treadmills. No, it was born in powerful, grungy garages where men, real fucking men worked with their hands. Where they got so dirty, they had to use a special manly soap to clean themselves up. You can’t find that shit at Bath & Body. Pure fucking testosterone.
Feeling inspired like never before, I scurry off to the comfort center to take two pages’ worth of notes for a new series. Jesus Christ, why had I never considered a mechanic before? My readers would salivate all over this! I can’t help myself as I begin writing the first chapter, the voices of the characters so clear, I have to get them out. Right fucking now.
It’s hours later when I’m ripped from my fictional world by a strong, overwhelming presence in the room. I look up from my laptop to find Miles watching me from the doorway, his mouth tipped into a lazy smile. His eyes are smoldering with something I’ve never seen before.
I pop out my earbuds out when he walks over to me. “You look hyper-focused,” he drawls as he drops down on the leather chair next to me.
My eyes fly wide as I quickly take my pen out of my hair and nervously mess with my top knot. “Yeah…I, erm…got a new book idea today.”
“Oh, really?” he asks, running his hands down his denim-clad thighs. The smell of his manly soap invades my nostrils. He’s showered. The sweat and dirt that were all over him hours ago are long gone, and he smells like a fucking mountain after a fresh rain.
“Do they have showers here?” I ask curiously, so I can make a mental note for my work in progress.
He laughs at that peculiar question. “Yes, why?”
My cheeks flame red. “You smell nice and fresh. Your hair is even still damp, right?” I reach out and comb my fingers through his short, black strands, moisture coating all five of my digits. My insides squeeze at the intimacy behind this embrace.
His eyes flutter closed like he’s enjoying my caress as much as I am, so I take the opportunity to continue my path from the top of his head down to the base of his taut, strong neck. Jesus, this guy is all man.
I suddenly realize we’re not alone and quickly force myself to stop petting the hot mechanic.
Miles’s blue eyes flutter open. “Does that mean you abandoned your other story idea?”
I laugh at that notion. “Lord, no. I just have to write stuff when it comes to me, or it’s gone forever. These are only notes and the first chapter, so I can dive in easier when I come back to it. I’m still very much working on my original story.”
“Well, I’m glad the comfort center is still giving you good vibes.” He looks down at my computer. “Are you almost done for the day?”
I bite my lip. “Maybe?”
“Do you want to go grab something to eat?”
“Like a date?” I ask because Jesus, I have a big mouth and no filter, and I can’t help myself.
His brow furrows. “Nah, just food.” He shrugs.
“I like food,” I reply, trying not to take his reply as a complete rejection as I begin closing my laptop.
Suddenly, reality crashes in on me. “Shoot, I’m sorry…I actually can’t. I promised my girlfriend I’d go for a walk with her like…” I quickly look at my phone for the time. “Now. Shit, I need to go.”
He nods and smiles, looking slightly disappointed. “I understand.”
“Rain check?” I ask, and begin packing up my gear.
“Definitely.” And with that, he gives me a friendly wave goodbye and exits the room like the stunning fucking stallion he is.
I’ve never been more excited to come to work each day. I’ve certainly never entered the Customer Comfort Center this much in one week. I keep telling the guys at the front desk that I forgot my lunch and I’m stocking up on Betty’s baked goods, but honestly, it’s just to see Mercedes.
She’s so fucking cute when she’s writing. I find myself pretending to be on my phone in the doorway so I can watch her work for a while. Her eyes drift off into space a lot, and occasionally, she does some weird physical movements, like she’s trying to figure out how to type an action in a book. One time, I had to bite my fist to stop myself from laughing out loud when she dreamily closed her eyes, licked her lips seductively, and air-kissed the room. She totally writes dirty books.
I love how she’s in her own little world, completely herself, and completely unaware of the world around her. And she’s doing it in a tire shop waiting room. I’ve never met a girl like her.
I find myself drawn to her every day. I like to stop in before I leave to see how her day was. Sometimes, she tells me how many words she wrote, which means nothing to me because I have no clue how many words it takes to write a book. But she seems excited by her progress, and I love the look on her face. Then she usually asks me how my day was, and I watch her eyes gloss over when I start talking cars and tools to her. It’s a game we play, drenched with flirting, but nothing ever comes of it.
I haven’t asked her to hang out after work again like I did earlier this week. I feel like the first time was a mistake, and the more I talk with her, the more I realize she’s not just some chick I can hook up with. She’s…cool. It’s best to keep our relationship “Tire Depot exclusive.” Lord knows I can’t be trusted around someone who’s beautiful, funny, and not crazy.
“Another week of work down,” I state, dropping into the seat beside her and looking around the empty comfort center. It’s the end of the day and Friday, so nobody is coming in for a late service.
“Big plans for the weekend?” Mercedes asks, closing the laptop on her legs and resting her hands on top of it. She’s adorable today in a little red sundress, quite different from the typical activewear I usually see her in.
“My buddy and I might go down to Golden Gate Park tomorrow. We try to hit this great hiking trail there every summer.”
“That sounds fun and suuuper masculine,” she states, turning to face me. Her blue eyes drop down to my lips, then she quickly looks away.
I frown and shift to face her more as well. “What about you?”
She exhales heavily. “Oh, I’ll probably do some more writing. Maybe check out a real coffee shop.”
I gasp dramatically. “But you’d have to actually pay for your coffee.”
She deadpans, “I know, but Tire Depot doesn’t have a suggestion box for me to ask if they’ll start offering weekend hours.”
“I’d rip that suggestion right up,” I retort with a serious tone. “I like my weekends. Don’t encourage them to mess with my weekends.”
She smiles, and I get a flash of that dimple in her cheek. “Fine, go. Be a man. Catch some fish. Get some dirt all up in ya.”
Her eyes drift down my body, and she pulls her lower lip into her mouth. Her brows pinch together in the most adorably intense way. Goddamn, she’s cute. And if I could read her mind, I’d swear she’s picturing me naked. I sure as hell have pictured her naked about eight times a day since the moment she collided with me in the alley. But I’m a dude, we do those things. Girls are usually a lot less obvious.
That’s why I’m ninety percent sure she writes erotic books. I get the feeling that she has a dirty mind, and I really fucking dig that. I tried googling the author name Mercedes, and with only a first name, I didn’t find anyone resembling her. And if I asked for her last name at this point, I’d be too obvious. So for now, I shall respect her wishes and not push for intel on the writing part of her life. Especially because she asked me not to.
“Well, you have a good weekend,” I state. Leaning across the armrest, I kiss her on the cheek. I pull back and freeze, staring into her wide and clearly surprised eyes. She smells like fucking flowers, but that’s besides the point. “I have no idea why I just kissed you on the cheek.”
“Me neither!” She giggles, her cheeks and neck turning a rosy hue before my very eyes. “You know, since we’re basically co-workers, this could be grounds for a sexual harassment claim.”