Rev My Engine

by Maggie Kane

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Epilogue

  MAGGIE KANE

  © Copyright 2017 by Maggie Kane

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Epilogue

  Chapter 1

  Mia

  The check engine light came on a couple of months ago. I checked- the engine was still there and running. I noticed the rattling noise but didn’t see anything obviously loose as I checked and double checked. So I decided that the little engine light was being overly sensitive about what was obviously a minor issue. When the rattling became a clanging, the little light started flashing. It might have just been my eyes, but it seemed to be burning even more intensely than before. I dutifully checked the engine again. It was still present and accounted for but definitely complaining. I checked to see if there were any flags with ‘I’m broken’ on them, but the engine was flag free so I decided to keep on rolling.

  Apparently, that little red engine light finally got tired of being ignored. This morning, it started flashing with the first turn of the key, and the engine, while still looking marvelous to my untrained eye, escalated from rattles and clangs to a shuddering, coughing, wheezing mess. I gave the little red light the finger and rested my head on the steering wheel. I don’t have the cash to fix the car. I need the car to keep my job. I need the car to get me to school so I can get out of my miserable dead-end job. The car has to run. I bite my lip and tell myself not to cry. I have a few hundred bucks in my savings account. It’s supposed to be my rainy day fund. Even though there isn’t a cloud in the sky, it feels like it’s pouring buckets on my parade. The car has to run.

  I take in a deep breath that only shudders a bit less than my poor engine and gingerly put the reluctant machine into gear. It sputters and stops. “Dammit,” I say under my breath and cross my fingers as I turn the key again. She fires up and I find the balance between rolling to a stop in neutral and keeping my foot on the gas to keep the RPMs up. The little engine light is flashing madly. I toss my scarf over it so I can’t see it anymore. There’s no need to be pissy about it, I think.

  Somewhere around 10th Street, I’m whispering a nonstop prayer promising everything from church every Sunday to celibacy if only I can get to the garage. I pry my hands off the steering wheel 10 minutes later when I pull into a little garage off 5th street. My friend, Cara, said that she brought her car here, and they had done a good job. She also told me to ask for Mike and to show a lot of cleavage and flirt a bit to get a discount.

  Looking in the rearview mirror, I swipe on mascara and lip gloss, pull my v-neck t-shirt as low as it goes, and rearrange the girls to maximize their view. Chin up and shoulders back, I concentrate on exuding a ‘come hither’ confidence. The truth is, I’m not very good at playing the seductress. I don’t flaunt myself or flirt. Hell, I haven’t even had a date in the last 6 months- unless you count that guy who slid into the booth across from me at McDonald’s, ate his happy meal and told me about the clock in his chest. He offered to let me listen to it, and sadly, that’s the best offer I’ve had in a long time.

  It’s not that I don’t think I’m attractive or have low self-esteem. I just don’t have time or energy to deal with it all. I’m a month away from finishing grad school with my Master’s in Business. I’ve worked my ass off to get here. No student loans. No massive credit card debt. I’m pretty freaking proud of myself- because I’ve done it all myself. My parents and I don’t see eye to eye on anything, and I’ve been on my own since I was 16.

  Needless to say, dating hasn’t been my priority for the last several years. Survival has. Most of the time, my curly hair is in a poufy ponytail, my teeth are brushed, my clothes are clean, and that’s as good as it gets. Today is much the same, except my jeans have grease on them from wiping my hands clean after all of my diligent engine checking.

  I give myself a bit of pep talk as I push into the office with its dingy little ‘Open’ sign propped next to the door. I am sexy, I tell myself over and over, trying to channel my inner sex goddess and paste a bright smile on my face.

  I step into a small anteroom that seems to be decorated in gray with accents of gray. The walls are covered with tattered posters of classic cars with classic beauties draped across their hoods and signs that say ‘No Smoking’ and’ Payment Due at Time of Service’. I mentally calculate the total in both my checking and savings account. If I juggle my power bill until next paycheck and eat only Spaghetti-O’s and Ramen noodles- I have just over $700 to fix my poor beleaguered car. There had been a buzz with the opening of the door, so I wait in front of a messy blue metal desk with a 1970’s office chair that appears to be held together by duct tape and hope.

  Voices drift in from the garage area. I can’t make out the words, but the exchange has some heat to it. I frown, trying to listen. I don’t need Mike pissed off and not in the mood to give a girl a break. The door bangs open and through it walks a tall, lean, toned, delicious looking man reeking of masculinity, and if I’m not mistaken, trouble- big trouble.

  Chapter 2

  Garrett

  I am going to kill him, I think as I walk to the office to check on whoever had just walked in. This was the third time I had caught Mike screwing one of our clients in the backseat of her own car. He just didn’t seem to understand the potential disaster it could be if he tried that with the wrong woman. Of course, judging by the moans and screams of his last debauchery, she wasn’t going to be complaining. Apparently, Mike was “Oh my God, fucking amazing”- or at least that is what she kept saying over and over and over. I wasn’t listening on purpose. I just couldn’t help but hear it- all the way in my office. If Mike wasn’t my best friend and the best mechanic around, I’d fire his ass in a heartbeat.

  I step into the dingy little waiting room and think for the thousandth time that I need to redecorate. I hadn’t changed anything since I bought the place five years ago. It just never seemed to get to the top of the list. I arrange my face in a pleasant, ‘how can I help you’ smile and look up to meet the eye of my next customer.

  A beautiful, tall brunette stands in front of the desk with a shy smile and delicious curves. She bites her lip nervously and then seems to remember something. Sticking her tits out and pulling her chin up, she asks, “Is Mike around? I’ve got a bit of car trouble and my friend told me he was the best.”

  I groan inwardly. Great, I
think, he’s got a fucking referral service now. Her eyes flick to my shirt where my name is clearly proclaimed as not Mike. I think for a half a second and see something like regret when she figures that out and I wonder why that pleases me.

  “Mike’s busy at the moment. I’ll help you with whatever you need.” I find myself thinking that ‘whatever’ could have a very wide range of pleasant implications. Lord, this woman was built for pleasure, I think, taking in her hourglass figure. Her generous breasts are about falling out of her top, and I try not to stare.

  For a moment, she looks unsure. “Are you sure I can’t talk with Mike? My friend recommended him specifically.”

  I move around the desk, crowding her just a bit. I hide a smile as I watch her want to take a step back but make her feet stay planted. “What’s wrong with your car, Ms...?” I let the end of the sentence trail off and make it clear that she is going to be dealing with me.

  “Andrews. Mia Andrews,” she says automatically and sticks out a hand. She adjusts her stance as she offers her hand, slightly increasing the distance between us. It was done subtly and most people wouldn’t have noticed it. I noticed, though, and it intrigued me. She was here because she thought she could flirt her way into a discounted car repair, but she just used a power move that was polished enough to hold her own in any boardroom.

  “Hello, Mia Andrews. I’m Garrett Castle, your new mechanic.” I move back to the chair behind the desk and sit, pulling a ticket out of the drawer. “What’s wrong with your car?”

  “It’s broken,” Mia replies, and I have to force myself to look down. She is leaning on the desk, giving a full view of her beautiful breasts spilling out of her v-neck shirt. I fight down the urge to reach out and rip the shirt down the front. She is playing with fire, but she doesn’t know it. I begin to wonder if I’ve been a bit hard on Mike after all.

  “Can you be a bit more specific, Ms. Andrews? Broken can mean many things.” I rock back in the chair and lock eyes with her, challenging slightly. I want to see how she reacts under a bit of pressure.

  She stands, puts her hands on her hips, and holds my eye. “I’m not the mechanic. You are- or so you claim. I just know that it is making noises and stalling. Isn’t it your job to tell me what’s broken?”

  Atta girl, I think. I would have been severely disappointed if she would have dropped her eyes or started babbling. “That’s right. Let’s go have a look then, shall we?” I stand and head to the door, not bothering to wait for her.

  The little Camry is a wreck. The list of things that is wrong with it is twice as long as what actually works. It is amazing that it has lasted this long. She’s been standing off to the side, watching me work under the hood for the last 30 minutes. I’ve been ignoring her but watching her anxiety grow out of the corner of my eye. Any other customer, I would have put in the office with a cup of coffee or I would have called them later with a diagnosis and estimate. But I wanted to keep Mia Andrews off balance. And I liked her presence.

  Finally, I straighten up and turn to look at her. “$3,000. That’s the low-ball estimate.”

  I see dismay and panic followed by resolve cross her beautiful face. She licks her lips and gives me a sultry look. “Surely, we can do a little better than that. I just need it to run for another month or so until I graduate. What will it take to just hold it together for a little longer?” She leans on the frame, giving me another look down her shirt.

  “Ms. Andrews, this car won’t drive again for less than two grand. It won’t run reliably for less than three. It‘s about 6 starts away from the junkyard.” I lean on the frame across from her, keeping us eye to eye. She is playing the coy damsel, but I want to see the tough as nails, don’t fuck with me woman again.

  She straightens and narrows her eyes. That’s right, sweetheart. Show me that backbone.

  Chapter 3

  Mia

  Three thousand dollars. It may as well be three million. They’re both equally out of reach for me. I glare at Garrett- the asshole mechanic- Castle. He is deliberately being a dickhead to push my buttons, and it’s working. I take a breath and remember my mission. Time to take it to the next level.

  I give him my very best smile, “Mr. Castle, I don’t have three thousand dollars. I don’t have two thousand dollars. I have seven hundred dollars- a thousand tops. What will that fix?” I hate to admit how little I have, but I’m hoping that he has a heart in there somewhere. Maybe if he knows how much I have, he will do a little something. Besides, there’s no reason to stand here any longer if he isn’t willing to negotiate.

  “Look, Ms. Andrews, I’d love to help you. I’ve got a business to run and a grand won’t even cover the most critical parts.” He gives me a ‘sorry for your luck’ look and spreads his hands to illustrate just how little he has to work with.

  I chew my lip and decide to try just one more thing. I step closer and put my hand over his where it is resting on the frame of the car. My heart is hammering. I don’t do this kind of thing and can only imagine how humiliating it is going to be if he laughs at me. I lick my lips and look up at him from under my lashes. My other hand comes up to rest lightly on his chest. “Garrett, I need this car to work. How can we make that happen?” I lift my eyes and meet his.

  Holy wow, his eyes are an amazingly bright, intense blue that I’d be willing to bet have intimidated the pants off lots of people. I hold his gaze, and the corner of his mouth lifts just a little. “Ms. Andrews,” he says with a voice that makes my stomach drop to my knees. He lowers his face to mine and whispers, “The estimate for your car is $3000.00. Come back when you have it.” And then he’s gone, striding back to the little office and leaving me gaping like a fish on the dock.

  Hot tears spring to my eyes. Fuck you, I think and consider yelling it as he is retreating back. He’s almost inside, and the opportunity for a snappy comeback is gone. I drop the hood and slide into the driver’s seat, slamming the door with far more force than necessary. I cringe and hope the door doesn’t fall off on top of everything else.

  There are other garages in town, I tell myself. I think there is one out on Dodge Street that I should be able to get to without having to deal with heavy traffic areas. I jam the key in and turn it over. Nothing happens.

  “Come on, girl. You’ve got one more in you,” I say in a cross between a prayer and a pep talk. Once more, I turn the key and get nothing. “Fuck. Shit. God dammit!” I hit the steering wheel with each expletive. “Please. Oh please.” I try the key again as the tears spill over. It just isn’t fair. I am so close to graduation. All I need is a bit of a break.

  I rest my head on the steering wheel and cry as my pity party started in earnest. I am so tired of struggling and juggling and not getting anywhere. My shoulders shake and tears spatter down on my jeans leaving little dark circles.

  What am I going to do, I finally ask myself. I’m not one to stay down for long. I haven’t gotten this far on my own by letting temporary defeats knock me out of the game. Where can I get three grand? I have a few things I can sell, but they will only get a couple of hundred bucks. I flop back in the seat and drag my hands down my face, wiping my tears away.

  The knock on the window just about makes me jump out of my skin. Garrett is standing there, dangling a set of keys in his hand. I stare for a moment before opening the door.

  “I have an offer for you, Ms. Andrews.”

  I drag in two deep breaths and glance in the rearview mirror to see how blotchy my face is. I freeze and suppress a groan. I apparently hadn’t used waterproof mascara earlier. Dark tracks are running down my face and are smudged across my cheeks. I dive into my purse, frantically searching for a makeup wipe or tissue. I come up with a slightly used McDonald’s napkin and dab at my streaked face. I looked like a raccoon with eye black on ready to take center field for the Yankees.

  “Ms. Andrews, this offer expires in exactly 10 seconds.”

  Son of a… I give up and mentally give the universe the finger as I push mysel
f out the door. I stand and keep my chin up. I meet his eyes, silently daring him to say anything.

  The corner of his mouth twitches as he takes in my face paint. “Have dinner with me tonight, at my house, and I’ll fix your car for $700.” He holds the keys out and locks his bright blue eyes with mine.

  Wow. He has ‘the look’ down pat, I think and try to decide what to do. It is a short deliberation. I don’t have a choice. This car has to run.

  “Deal.”

  He drops the keys in my palm and walks away without another word, once again leaving me standing wrong-footed. I press the unlock button and a black Audi three cars down beeps and flashes its lights. I grab my purse and backpack and slide into the nicest car I’ve ever driven.

  The leather seat molds to my butt and the engine cranks to life with the press of a button. There’s a note on the dash-

  3215 Hickory Mill Dr. 7 PM sharp

  I stuff it in my purse. I put the Audi in gear, and as I pull out, I wonder exactly what is on tonight’s menu.

  Chapter 4

  Garrett

  Mike’s smug smirk greets me when I walk in the office. I would punch him if he didn’t have such a good point.