Knocked up by the Mechanic

I guess he was some sort of blue collar savant, like the movie Good Will Hunting. I wonder what he could have been if he’d ever gone to college. Maybe an engineer or an inventor. But Wyatt the mechanic never smiled, and his face always seemed to be held in a permanent scowl. Either he was mad at the world for existing or he was trying to figure out something really complicated.

I’d been staring too long. As if he could read my mind, he looked up and his eyes caught mine. The way he looked at me made me feel like I was naked, vulnerable and exposed under his discerning glare. Our eyes locked for maybe just a few seconds, but those few seconds felt extraordinarily long and salient and loaded with meaning. He then scowled anew and dropped the wrench he’d been holding onto a red cloth he’d laid in the grass. He reached down and retrieved a small bottle of water and twisted off the cap. After wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his wrist, he tipped the water to his lips and downed the entire thing in one prolonged sip. I watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed, one hand rested on his hip and I could just see the dip in his lower abdomen where the V started.

When he finished the water, he looked at me again. This time, I’d been caught dead staring and drinking him in. Suddenly, I felt too hot inside the perfectly air conditioned main house. I let the drape go, cleared my throat and stepped back into the room.

"We should totally go outside and watch Mr. Hotstuff up close," Alexandra suggested. “You have to admit it, Harley. He’s crazy hot.

“He’s practically family and my dad would get pissed if he found out we were messing with him.”

“If he was willing to do a glow up video for me, it would go viral. A body like that will get me a ton of followers.”

“I doubt he cares about social media, Gianna

“Sure you’re not interested at all? If he’s like family, how come you need a bib for all that drool?” Alexandra snickered.

“I’d fuck him if he’d agree to do a couple of videos for me,” Gianna said.

“Gianna, why do you gotta be so thirsty all the time?” Alexandra asked, turning to her. “You already have a man and only God knows how many side pieces. You could maybe just skip this one guy because Harley doesn’t want to get in trouble with her dad. Is that too much to ask, huh? You can’t leave one guy alone?”

I was shocked by Alexandra. She was usually Gianna’s lap dog and did all of her bidding.

"He's working. We’re bothering him. We should leave him alone and find something else to film," I said.

It was true. I wanted Alexandra and Gianna to leave Wyatt alone.

But at that moment, I felt like I’d give almost anything to be the object of his desire, to have those dark mysterious eyes lock with mine again and stoke the fire that was building inside me.

Chapter 2

WYATT

The princess was home, in the castle with her ladies in waiting. I'd seen her around the Brooks estate over the years, watched her grow from a lanky kid into a polished young woman. You could tell she’d been groomed into a debutant. Seemed like from one day to the next she went from big smiles and bucked teeth, to braces and moody, only to come out the other side stunning and poised with her nose in the air. She’d obviously been taught to act like that, to not intermingle with those who weren’t her kind. But I remembered the days when she’d talk to me, ask me about cars and if I knew how to ride horses. These days, she didn’t even stop to say hello. I’d raise my chin at her and she’d flick her hand in the shortest wave possible when she came slamming into the garage in her little Maserati on her way home from school. The girl was reckless and drove fast; she’d crashed more than one of her father’s cherished automobiles. I did maintenance on the Maserati for her, not that she cared. When she was a senior in high school, she asked me if I washed it.

“Wyatt, when you wipe her down, can you make sure to get the bird shit on the back window?” she’d said to me. She was on the phone with someone else and couldn’t be bothered to stop walking for the help—or even bother making eye contact.

I don’t wash cars. Take it to the carwash down on Dalton,” I told her.

“Seriously, so who washes my car then?” She’d swiveled at the door in surprise at my answer.

“Fuck if I know, Harley,” I said under my breath.