Miss Mechanic

Being nice to each other was weird.

Like…I didn’t know how not to snark at him, and I think I’d gone an entire hour without doing it yesterday.

My mom had insisted that was called being an adult. I told her to come and meet Dex and see how ‘adult’ she expected me to be.

As it was, this morning, I pulled into the parking lot next to his technologically behind truck and got out. It wasn’t likely that I’d be able to keep up being nice to him today, but I was willing to try.

Maybe.

It depended on what kind of mood he was in.

I grabbed my purse and walked toward the garage. The doors were open, and there was a strange, high-pitched sound that was either a cat dying, or Dex whistling.

I had to vote on the cat.

Dex didn’t whistle. Did he?

My steps faltered. I wasn’t a big fan of dying cats or whistling. But, I had to admit I was intrigued. What the hell was he whistling for? And was he whistling Singing in the Rain?

That had to be the most random thing ever.

I slowly walked under the big doors, dipping my head so I didn’t hit them. My sneakers squeaked against the floor, but Dex didn’t turned around once. He had a car jacked right up onto axle stands and was lying on the floor under it, something that made the whistles echo off the cold floor.

I put my purse on the coffee table and moved to get a coffee. Shoving my mug under it, I pressed the button and the machine whirred to life, spitting the dark liquid into my “Before coffee, you fucoffee” mug.

Dex’s whistling reached me here, especially when the coffee machine was done. I couldn’t help the quirk of my lips as I finished making my drink and turned back toward the garage.

He had no idea I was here.

I leaned against the doorframe and pulled the strap of my denim dungaree shorts up over my shoulder. From where I stood, I had an almost perfect view of Dex.

Of the way his arm muscles flexed as he worked on the underside of the car.

I sipped my coffee. It was easier to swallow that than the little lump that was forming in my throat at the sight of him working.

Freaking hell. The car was up high enough that I could see his entire body. His uniformed shirt of a light-colored tank top had ridden up his body, allowing me a sneaky peek at the tight packs of muscle on his stomach. A smudge of grease ran along his hipbone and over the waistband of his light-blue, jean shorts.

My God, what was I doing? Why was I staring all over him like he was a chocolate cake? Was my next move to grab a knife and slice into him?

I shook my head and averted my eyes from him. There was nothing good that would come from staring at him. The only thing that would happen would be an awkward increase in how much I was attracted to him.

Why couldn’t he be ugly?

Why were the assholes all hot?

Had I done something terrible in a past life?

I sighed into my mug. My gaze found its way back to him. He reached out one arm, and as he patted around the floor for a tool, his arm flipped this way and that, revealing thick veins running down his forearm.

Sweet baby Jesus.

I drained the rest of my coffee, ignoring how hot it was, and refilled the cup. I’d woken up with barely any time to get dressed and braid my hair, so the lack of coffee had to be why I was suddenly turning into a googly-eyed idiot.

That, and I was most definitely an arm girl before anything else.

Hmm… I wondered if duct-taping his mouth would take the asshole out of him?

I shook my head and stirred the cream into my coffee. I definitely needed more caffeine. Next up: some sense knocked into me.

Moving back into the garage, I saw that Dex was still feeling around on the floor for something.

“You know,” I said, walking over to where he was working, “if you actually looked for what you wanted instead of blinding flailing around, you might have some success.”

“When did you get here?”

I crouched down and peered under the car. “Sometime between the cat dying and the seagulls protesting.”

“Funny. Can you get me the next size down for whatever this one is?” He waved a wrench at me.

I took it from him and checked the size, then did the same to the tools on the floor. “There’s a reason you can’t find it.” I put my coffee down and went to the toolbox where they all were. “You didn’t get it out.”

“Fuck it.”

“Here.” I bent back down and handed it to him. “What are you doing?”