Tight

I was only about twenty minutes from my dad and step-mom’s place, but that might as well be across the state with how my car was acting. I pulled off to the side of the road and cut the engine, this weird clicking noise filling the interior of the car, smoke billowing out even more profusely.

“Shit,” I cursed, pushed my glasses up the bridge of my nose, and reached across the seat for my cell. I looked up a tow company, made the call, and after hanging up, I sat there and waited for them to show up. Our small town only had a couple mechanic shops, so it only made sense that I have my car towed to Roman’s. I wouldn’t trust anyone else not to screw me over, and I know Roman would never do that.

I sent a text to my dad about the car trouble, and for the next five minutes went back and forth with him, trying to convince him I didn’t need him to come out here, that the tow was on its way, and I was taking the car to Roman’s shop.

Thinking about Roman screwing me over shouldn’t have had a flush stealing over me.

Twenty minutes later I was out of the car and letting the guy hook it up to be towed.

The guy had a potbelly and was wearing a grease stained shirt with the company logo embroidered on the upper right chest. His stomach hung slightly out the bottom of the shirt, one that was about two sizes too small, and his hair was pulled back in an oily ponytail. “You can climb in the cab. It’ll only be a few more minutes.”

I headed to the passenger side and climbed in, pushing the empty fast food bags out of the way with my foot and wrinkling my nose at the smell of old cigarette smoke and hamburger grease. He climbed into the driver’s side and slammed the door shut.

“Where we towing you to?”

“Randy’s, please.” His answer was a nod and then he put the truck into drive and pulled out onto the road.

We were at Randy’s about ten minutes later and I was out of the truck before he finished filling out some paperwork on a clipboard he had beside him. Adjusting my purse, I lifted my hand and blocked the sun as I stared at the big sign telling me I was at Randy’s Mechanic Shop.

He was out of the truck a moment later, handing me paperwork to sign for insurance and payment, and then he was unhooking my car and driving off. I was left standing there feeling out of place and annoyed.

The double bay garage doors were open and I could hear rock music faintly in the background. I headed toward the front door of the shop, pulled it open, and looked around. After shoving the paperwork in my purse, I walked up to the front desk. It had the typical mechanic shop “dirty” feel going on, with a corkboard behind the desk, food flyers tacked to it, handwritten notes beside those.

I’d never actually been to Roman’s work, and for some reason it made me feel a little more connected to him, a little closer.

God, I’m losing it.

Through the large windows, I could see several guys working on cars. I didn’t see Roman, though.

I turned and faced one of the walls, seeing a list of some of the employees and their positions. At the top was his name, Roman, lead mechanic. I felt pride knowing he’d worked hard for that.

I knew he’d been a rowdy teenager, getting in trouble, running around with the wrong crowd. But despite all of that, he had a good job, a place of his own. He’d even picked up a few part-time classes at the college.

So, no matter what my father thought, there was no harder working man that I knew than Roman.

The sound of a door opening behind me drew me out of my thoughts. I turned around, feeling my eyes widen when I saw Roman. I didn’t know why I reacted like that. I knew he worked here, but seeing him in his element did something instant to me.

He was wearing these stonewashed blue coveralls, zipped down a few inches to expose a white shirt underneath. He had the sleeves rolled up, grease covering his hands and forearms. His hair was messy from working all day, and sweat dotted his brow. He looked dirty, but in a good way.

God, did he look good, almost better than when he was cleaned up.

He looked surprised to see me as well, but then he gave me a lopsided grin and I felt my heart flutter and my belly clench.

“Hey you. What are you doing here?” He walked up to the counter and leaned against it, continuing to wipe off his hands, the grease being transferred from them to that piece of cloth.