Dirty Deeds (Mechanics of Love #3)

by Megan Erickson

  When she shut the door behind them, Spencer let out a breath and collapsed onto the couch. “I feel like I could sleep for a decade.”

  Alex glanced at the clock. “Well, it’s five o’clock on a Friday and I don’t work tomorrow. So let’s get pizza, have a beer, and then sleep until . . . at least noon.”

  He rolled his head to face her and curled a loose piece of hair around her ear. “Okay.”

  Alex kneeled on the sofa beside him. “When do you have to go back?”

  “About that . . . ” he muttered.

  Her eyes widened a little in alarm. “What?”

  “Well, I’m actually on a holiday.”

  “What holiday?”

  “No, a holiday. Errr . . . sabbatical.”

  Alex still stared at him.

  “Basically, my boss is giving me some extended vacation time. I haven’t taken vacation in, well, ever. I wanted to come here and visit you. And I wanted to”—he swallowed—“go back to visit my father.”

  Her face didn’t change for a minute and then her lips parted. “You want to go to England?”

  “For a visit.”

  “Oh—”

  “With you.”

  She shut her mouth so fast, her teeth clacked.

  “I wasn’t lying about what I said before. I want my father to meet you. I want him to see that moving here and doing what I’ve been doing for all these years has been worth it, because it made me a man who’s loved by you.”

  Her lips trembled. “Shit, will you please stop saying things like that?” She made a fist and punched him lightly in the shoulder. “I’m tired of crying, you asshole!”

  He grabbed his arm. “Hey!”

  “Well, then stop!” She wiped her eyes. “Dammit. You’re lucky I didn’t put makeup on yet or I’d be really pissed.”

  “Alex.”

  She stared down at her knees, then up at him. “What?”

  “Will you go to England with me before we come back here and start our lives together?”

  She swallowed. “I’m a really awful traveler.”

  “That’s okay.”

  “No, like, I get grumpy and I am bad at packing and I get motion sickness in vehicles and I can barely understand southern United States accents let alone another country’s.”

  He laughed. “You’re really selling yourself as a companion.”

  “I’m worried you’ll get so tired of me that you’ll dump me in the Thames. Or whatever that river is in England.”

  “Well, we have a couple of rivers.”

  “Oh.” She looked confused for a minute and it was adorable. “Okay, well, will you promise not to push me overboard into water with the intention of drowning me to get rid of me?”

  “Alex, for God’s sake.”

  “Just promise me.”

  He rolled his eyes. “I won’t try to bloody drown you, Sprite.”

  She took a deep breath and held his gaze. “Yes, Spencer. I’ll go to England with you.”

  He smiled, and kissed her until she squealed.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Two months later . . .

  ALEX HADN’T BEEN lying. She was probably the worst traveler Spencer had ever seen in his life. He also sort of understood why. Nothing was made for her. She couldn’t reach the overhead bin on the airplane. Her feet didn’t touch the floor during their flight so she spent most of the time uncomfortably shifting in her seat. Then they hit turbulence over the Atlantic and she spent the rest of the time with her head in the puke bag.

  No one saw her in the airport. She was probably a head shorter than most people, and even with him beside her, people bumped into her constantly.

  The train from London to Manchester was slightly better, but she still couldn’t reach the overhead bin. He tried to lighten the mood by suggesting she carry around her own step stool, but that had earned him a death glare, so he didn’t speak up much after that. She fell asleep on his shoulder on the train, and he figured that was good because she’d had a hell of a time on this trip so far.

  But she hadn’t thrown him into a river yet, so he figured she was at least still a little bit in love with him. He hoped.

  He’d grown up in a small flat in Stockport with his father, and their shop was in Manchester, in an area called Cheetham Hill. They were staying at a hotel in Manchester and then would head to Red Fox Auto the next day. He knew his father would be there, and to be fair, that was his father’s home turf more than anything.

  He woke up Alex when they neared their stop, and she sat with a grumpy look on her face as the train slowed. He wanted to tell her she was adorable, face creased from a wrinkle in his shirt, but he didn’t want to get kicked in the bollocks so he kept his mouth shut.

  She rubbed her eyes. “So tell me about Manchester again.”

  “Well,” he said, “it’s an industrial city north of London. It’s not . . . posh. Uh, it’s very diverse, but yet we all agree there is one main battle, and that’s red versus blue.”

  She stared at him.

  “Manchester United versus Manchester City.”

  She hesitated for a minute, and he assumed her sleep-addled brain needed to catch up. “Oh,” she said, making a motion with her foot. “Soccer.”

  “Football.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Yes, it’s football. I said before but my father is, uh, a staunch Manchester United fan, and that’s one of the reasons his shop is the Red Fox and not the Blue Fox.”

  A smile tugged at her lips.

  “What?” He frowned.

  “You English and your football.” She said the last word with an accent that wasn’t remotely like his.

  “Your accent needs work.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  When they got off the train, they took a taxi to their hotel, which was in Manchester. Alex gazed out the window, muttering about how the English drove on the wrong side of the road, and she wanted coffee and they better not try to give her tea and a whole bunch of other complaints.

  And Spencer . . . well, it was a little disconcerting to be back in his hometown for the first time in years. What was strange was that it hadn’t changed much, not from what he could see. It still smelled the same. The air still felt the same.

  He inhaled deeply and leaned his head back on his headrest. Tomorrow, he’d see his dad, and the thought rolled his stomach with a mixture of dread and anticipation.

  As if Alex knew, he felt her hand slip in his. He rolled his head to the side to face her. She grinned. “I love you.”

  “I love you too.”

  THE COFFEE WAS shit but Alex knew beggars couldn’t be choosers. In theory, she knew it was probably decent coffee but it wasn’t her coffee and her coffeemaker in her favorite mug, so this was all a little upsetting.

  She really needed to work on being a better traveler. She knew when they fell asleep last night that she’d been a royal bitch all day, but her bones were sore and her mouth felt icky. The only thing tethering her to happiness was Spencer. She was doing this for him.

  So she really needed to get over herself.

  Spencer took her out to a restaurant to give her a “proper fry-up.” She was unsure what that meant but went along with it because she needed coffee and food.

  So there they sat in a restaurant, her sipping coffee from a beige porcelain mug while Spencer talked to the waiter. They’d been in Manchester for one night and Spencer’s accent was already slipping, his vowels drawing out like that night he’d had too much to drink.

  She noticed that’s the way the cabbie had talked, as well as the people in this restaurant. After Spencer ordered for her and they were left alone, she swallowed a gulp of coffee. “Tell me about why you’re talking differently now.”

  He blinked at her for a moment before chuckling and taking a sip of his own coffee. “Ah, noticed that?”

  “Of course I did.”

  “Well, just like the United States, different parts of England have different accents. Ma
nchester is known for being, uh, more working class. So if you have a Manchester accent, it kind of gives you away a bit. So I worked on it, tried to suppress it and make it some sort of bastardization of a London accent. I kept it up for a long time, and only really slipped if I’d had a lot to drink or I was tired. But being back here, I just . . . fell back into it.”

  She drained her coffee and looked around for someone to refill it. Spencer motioned to their waiter, who hurried over with a carafe. “So,” she said to Spencer. “Tried to cover your roots.”

  “Yeah, I was.”

  “I kinda like knowing there’s a roughneck under those posh suits of yours.” She grinned over the rim of her full coffee.

  “We have to go visit my father after this. Quit smiling at me like that.”

  The food arrived soon after and Alex stared at the full plate in front of her. Spencer pointed to the various items on it. “You have your sausage and back bacon, as well as some beans. Also some tomatoes, fried bread, and eggs.”

  She poked at the sausage. She wasn’t sure if Spencer was trying to surprise her, but she was no stranger to huge breakfasts. She came from diner country. “Wanna bet I can eat all this?”

  Spencer’s eyes rounded, and he barked out a laugh. “No, I’m not betting. I’ve seen you eat. Not sure where you put it, but no way am I betting anything.”

  She smiled smugly, picked up the sausage, and bit off the end.

  THEY PULLED TO a stop on a small road in what Spencer had said was Cheetham Hill, a section of Manchester. The cab driver had looked at Spencer funny when he gave him the address, and Alex saw why now. The street was barely big enough to fit one car, let alone two traveling in opposite directions. As Spencer paid the cabbie, Alex peered out the window. There was a small metal sign swinging gently, the edges rusty, but she could see Red Fox Auto written clearly in crimson. There was a profile of a fox, which looked a lot like the tattoo on Spencer’s chest. She opened the door and stepped out, her booted feet splashing in a puddle.

  Outside the shop was a rack of tires, and stone steps led up to a glass door, where a handwritten OPEN sign was displayed.

  Everything about the street and the shop was a little bit derelict, and Alex smiled. It kinda felt like home.

  She heard an engine and turned to see Spencer beside her as the taxi drove away. He looked at the shop through squinted eyes. She reached for his hand and waited for him to speak.

  Finally he shook his head and huffed out a small laugh. “It doesn’t look any different.”

  “No?”

  “Not really.”

  A shadow fell behind the door and Alex took a deep breath. Spencer said he hadn’t told his father—who went by Michael—that they were coming, that it was better that way if they showed up without notice. She didn’t argue.

  The door swung open and a large man filled the frame. He wore coveralls with one strap off, a dirty white shirt underneath. He had a lit cigarette dangling from his lips, and his blue eyes narrowed on Spencer as he took a drag and exhaled. Alex thought he looked a little like Jack. But British.

  “Comin’ in?” Michael said.

  “Hey, Pop.”

  The man grunted and walked into the shop, letting the door fall shut behind him.

  Spencer smiled and tugged on Alex’s hand. “Let’s go.”

  She followed along dutifully, and they stepped into an office that didn’t look much different from the one at Payton. No one was there, and Spencer led her deeper into the building until they reached the back where there were three garage bays.

  Michael stood in front of a Toyota with the hood up, fiddling with the engine. An older Indian man sat on a chair in the corner, his feet stretched out in front of him, arms crossed over his chest. His eyes were closed. Was he sleeping?

  “Hello, Amir,” Spencer said.

  The man opened liquid brown eyes, blinked, then closed them again. “Junior.”

  Alex lifted an eyebrow at Spencer. His cheeks flushed a little. “That’s what I was called when I lived here.”

  She nodded and looked back at Michael, who was now watching her.

  “You gonna introduce me?” He addressed his son without taking his eyes off her.

  Spencer stepped forward. “This is Alex Dawn, my girlfriend.”

  The man didn’t wipe his hand before he extended it, and Alex wondered if that was on purpose. She took it anyway and shook it with a firm grip. The man seemed pleased and cocked his head slightly.

  Then his gaze shifted to Spencer. “When’d you get in?”

  “Yesterday.”

  Michael’s jaw rolled as he took in his son. “Glad you stopped in.”

  Spencer seemed to deflate a little. “I thought we could stay a little bit, take you out to lunch or dinner. Just . . . visit.”

  Michael didn’t speak for a while, then focused back on the car. “Not sure I got time. My day is booked solid.”

  “What’s Amir doing?”

  “He’s on his break.”

  Spencer was clearly working hard to keep himself composed, and oh no, no way was his father being a jackass on Alex’s watch.

  They’d come all this way to spend time with the grumpy old man. They were going to damn well do it.

  She stepped forward and leaned a palm on the car. “Listen, I spent the whole flight here puking my guts out, then having my bones nearly rattle out of my body on a train, all so your son could see the father he hasn’t seen in years. So listen up, Pop. We’re going to get some lunch, and we’re going to talk, and we’re going to have a great goddamn time. Then we’ll come back here and I’ll roll my sleeves up and help you finish your work for the day.”

  Michael stared at her, his face unchanging, then his gaze swept down her body and back up. “And how are you going to help?”

  She pointed at the engine he was working on. “First, I bet the issue with this Toyota is excessive oil consumption, right? Common for this model year. So I can tell you right away what parts you need to fix it, since I just did one of these earlier this year.” She pointed to a Chevy truck in the corner. “Then I’m going to replace the tires because they are practically bald from your shitty roads. Then I’m going to organize some of the paperwork in your office because it’s a goddamn mess.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “You hungry? Because your son wants to have a meal with you, and his mechanic girlfriend wants some fish and chips.”

  The only indication Michael was still alive was his chest moving with his breaths. They held gazes for a solid minute but Alex refused to look away.

  Finally, Michael’s lips split into a grin, then he cackled. He was so loud, the man in the corner cracked an eye open, and someone across the street hollered for him to pipe down.

  He quieted and, still smiling, looked at Spencer. “And this woman loves you?”

  Alex stepped closer to Spencer’s side. “Sure as hell wouldn’t have traveled all this way for someone I just kinda liked. I’d rather pull my toenails out than fly.”

  Michael’s gaze studied her for another minute, then it shifted to Spencer. “Ya done good, boy.”

  Spencer puffed out his chest slightly, wrapped his arm around her back, and squeezed her hip. She’d done well too. She’d made Spencer proud. And dammit, she was proud of herself too.

  Michael closed the hood of the car he was working on. “Dare’s isn’t rubbish. Want to eat there?”

  Spencer nodded.

  His father walked out ahead of them and Spencer turned to her. “You’re fucking amazing, you know that?”

  Alex grinned and lifted her chin. “Hell yeah, I know that.”

  Craving more Mechanics of Love?

  Be sure to check out the second installment in Megan Erickson’s sexiest series yet!

  DIRTY TALK

  When the one you shouldn’t want is the one you can’t resist . . .

  Brent Payton works hard, plays hard, and has earned his ladies’ man reputation. But he’s more than just a good time, even though n
o one seems to see it. Until a gorgeous brunette with knockout curves and big, thoughtful eyes walks into his family’s garage and makes Brent want more.

  Ivy Dawn and her sister are done with men, all of them. They’ve uprooted their lives too many times on account of the opposite sex, but that’s over now. The plan seems easy until a sexy, dirty-taking mechanic bursts in Ivy’s life and shakes everything up.

  Brent can’t resist the one person who sees past his devil-may-care façade, and Ivy finds it harder and harder to deny how happy he makes her. But she has secrets of her own and when the truth comes out, she must decide if she’ll run again or if she’ll take a chance on forever.

  Available Now from Avon Impulse!

  An Excerpt from

  DIRTY TALK

  BRENT PAYTON WANTED some decent music while he was working.

  Not this pop-rock crap the radio had been playing but real rock ’n’ roll. Hell, he’d take George Thurgood right about now. Some “Bad to the Bone”? Hells to the yeah. That was better than a cup of coffee, which he could really use this Monday morning.

  He’d volunteered to spring for an iPod and a docking station so he could play his own music, but his technology-inept father had acted like Brent wanted to buy a spaceship.

  So that was out.

  “Brent,” Cal’s voice called from the other bay of their garage at Payton Automotive.

  “Yeah?”

  “What’s this shit on the radio?” his older brother asked. “Turn it down before my ears bleed.”

  Brent snorted. Cal was grumpy on a normal basis. But now that he’d quit smoking and wore a nicotine patch, he was even more insufferable. So Brent didn’t argue and turned down the music.

  A truck rumbled into the parking lot, and Brent turned around, squinting to see who it was.

  Alex Dawn, the new employee they’d hired a week ago, strolled into the garage, a bandana wrapped around her head, wearing baggy jeans and a tight T-shirt. She held a banana in one hand.

  Brent grinned and walked over to where she stood outside the door to the office, looking over the schedule for the day. She peeled her banana and took a bite. He leaned in and inhaled deeply. “I love the smell of estrogen in the morning.”