Huge Working Hero (Hard Working Hero 3)

“Well, he isn't wrong.” He holds up his hand, and there's a small gash across his knuckle. “She got me good.”

“You need a band-aid?” I ask.

He smirks, bending his finger and looking at his knuckle. Brand rocks it back and forth, examining the injury. “No,” he says. “But a kiss might make it feel better.”

“Ha!” I laugh out loud. “We just met. I'm not kissing your knuckle.”

“All right, fair enough.” He wipes his hand on his pants, then checks the time on his phone. “How about we go for a ride instead? I need to go pick up a part for Charlene.”

“Charlene?”

“Yeah, Charlene.” He runs his palm down the front fender of the car. “She needed a name, and your dad never gave her one.”

“Why do guys consider cars female?”

“I can't speak for all men, but I do it to showcase the car's beauty. I mean look at her.” He steps back, his eyes gliding smoothly up and down the car. “She's gorgeous. The sleek red paint. . .” His voice deepens. “The sexy curves. A man is rough, dirty, and has sharp edges. But cars like this, they deserve to be caressed. To be treated like a goddess and put on a pedestal.”

“That is by far the sexiest description I've ever heard to describe a car.”

“Well, I'm a passionate guy.” He winks, then dangles the keys in front of my face. “So, what do you say? Want to go for a ride?”

I know I should say no. I know I should kindly decline and go back inside. I should cut this off before we take things too far. But, if I really felt that way, I wouldn't have come outside to begin with. I'm standing here because I want to be near him.

Just go. It isn't going to hurt anyone. Right?

He smiles again, jingling the keys like bells. “Come on, I could use the company.”

“Fine, but just to get the part and then back. I don't want you to get in trouble with my father. I'm sure you know by now my father doesn't always play nice.”

“Your father isn't here right now, and he won't be back for a bit. He had some business up at the shop and wants me here to keep working, so I think we're safe.” Brand opens the passenger side door, and fans his hand for me to climb in.

I drop down in the seat and watch him as he walks around to the front and shuts the hood. He gets in the car and plugs the key in the ignition. The ignition bell dings as he flips the key.

“Let's hope it starts.” He twists the key the rest of the way, and the engine roars to life.

In the side view mirror, I see two plumes of white smoke billow out the back. “Looks like you got a coolant leak.”

He cocks his head slightly, his eyes thinning. “How can you possibly know that but your father didn't?”

I shrug my shoulder. “I've been around a long time, and I'm a quick learner.”

“But you knew instantly it was coolant leaking. That's pretty specific.”

“I also pay attention. You don't spend nineteen years around cars and at races and car shows and not learn a single thing.”

Brand smiles big. “I like that.”

He revs the engine a few times, then pulls forward and out of the driveway.

“How is it even legal for you to drive this on the road? Isn't it illegal?”

“Only with the slicks on it. Right now she's wearing regular street tires and the nitrous isn't on. We should be fine.”

Brand hits the gas pedal quickly, causing the car to lurch forward. My head snaps back against the headrest, making it hard for me to inhale a breath. He lets up, the pressure dissipating instantly.

“She's got such good thrust. Once we fix her up, she's going to scream down that track.”

“What part are we going to pick up?” I ask.

“A new head gasket.”

“Oh, okay. That's a tough fix. You sure you can do it right?”

“Can I do it? Are you really doubting me?” he asks, cocking his head to the side.

“I don't know you that well, so yes.”

“All right,” he says, stroking his thumb across his jaw and pushing out his chin. “I've been working on cars since I was old enough to tell the difference between a flat head and Phillips head screwdriver, so, that was about five or so. I rebuilt the engine on my first car, a nineteen eighty-six Ford Mustang, and painted her myself. Named her Quarter, like the silver thoroughbred quarter horse. My father was a mechanic, my grandfather was mechanic, and my great grandfather was a worker at the original Ford factory in Detroit. So yes, I know my way around an engine.”

“Wow, impressive résumé you got there. I know a thing or two, not nearly as much as you, but enough.”