Chapter Four
“I t appears you have a damsel in distress on your hands,” Jake says the moment I answer my cell having just rolled out from beneath the car I was working on.
“The fuck are you talking about?”
“Marly Winchester appears to be lost again,” He says, “Her car has broken down on the crossing at Seventy Third.”
I sit up, “What?”
“You deaf?” He huffs.
“Fuck you,” I climb up from the roller and grab a rag to wipe the oil from my hands.
“Well you gonna come save her or not? I’ve got to pick up Amy from school.”
“Seventy Third?” I repeat.
“Yep,” He pops the P.
“I’ll be there in ten.”
After a few days, I started to believe she may not take me up on my offer which would have fucked up my plans. But now she’s on my turf, with car troubles nonetheless, and it gives me the perfect opportunity to reel her in some more.
I grab the keys for the tow truck and lock up the garage, heading out a few minutes later. The sun is beating down on the town, I’m already sweaty and covered in dirt and the lack of air in this damn truck isn’t helping.
I wave at a few kids who stick up their hands when I drive by and spot her gleaming white Mercedes a mile off. She stands at the side of the road, her hands folded in front of her and her blonde hair moving with the slight breeze. It’s in a half up style and she has that damn ribbon in her hair again, the silk tails tangling with the golden strands around them.
Pulling the truck to a stop in front of her car, I hop out, reveling in the way her eyes widen when she sees me.
“Damn princess,” I grin at her, “You didn’t need to go blow up your car to see me. Next time, take my number.”
My eyes roll down her body appreciatively, she’s in a white sundress that has little flowers printed all over it, tight across her chest and abdomen which then flows around her long tan legs. She looks like she’s just come from lunch or brunch or whatever you call it.
I pause when I get to her feet, noticing they’re bare.
“Where are your shoes?”
She blinks rapidly and stays quiet, that shocked look still on her face.
“Hey princess,” I cock my head, stepping up to her, “You good? Did you hit your head?”
“River?” She sputters out, shaking her head.
“In the flesh, baby, where are your shoes?”
“In the car.” Her eyes move all over me, only stopping for a minute at the puckered, scarred skin on my arms and chest where it’s visible beneath the stained white tank. My dark green overalls are tied around my waist, leaving my shoulders and arms visible for her to look at. And it looks like she likes what she sees. Dirty, covered in sweat, and all.
“Why are they in the car?”
“I don’t drive well in heels,” She admits, “You’re a mechanic?”
“Need a day job,” I shrug, heading to the open hood of her car that appears to be sending tendrils of smoke into the air, “Track racing only pays so much.” At twenty-three, with only a high school diploma, it’s not bad going owning my own garage and track, but there is only so much money I can make.
“But you own it.”
“I don’t charge to race, the racers earn money in bets.” I tell her, grabbing the stick to close the hood, “I need to take it in.”
“Huh?”
“The car, Marly, I need to take it in.”
“Oh right, sure.” She nods, “Can I use your phone?”
“What for?” I ask as I head back to the truck.
“I need to phone my mom to come pick me up.”
“It’s back at the shop,” I tell her before I climb inside, “I’ll give you a ride. They can get you from there.”
She nods and dips her chin, but I don’t wait to find out what’s going on inside her head. I’ll get the car loaded and I can pick her brain on the drive back. It’s only five minutes, ten max, but we can take the long way round.
Once the truck is lined up, I load her car onto the bed and then walk round to the passenger door, opening it for her. She just stands and stares at me like I might bite.
I mean, I very well might, but she’ll like it when I do.
“Come on, princess,” I coax, offering a hand. She tentatively walks over and accepts my hand, the smoothness of it against the rough, dirtied callouses of mine jarring but I push it down and hide it, helping her up the step and into the truck before I close the door behind her.
She’s stiff as a board when I get behind the wheel and pull away from the sidewalk. I leave her to her thoughts for a second as I maneuver the truck through the streets, heading to the outskirts to take the long way back.
“What were you doing on this side of the tracks?” I ask her when the silence gets too much. It’s stifling hot inside the cab, even with the windows down and a glance over to Marly shows she’s feeling it too. The fine hair at her temples is wet with sweat and there’s a fine sheen of it on her brow.
“I was just driving,” She flicks her blues to me, that ribbon whipping around with the wind coming through the windows.
“With nowhere to go?” I frown.
“I just needed some air,” She shrugs, “I didn’t mean to end up here.”
“Or maybe you did,” I drop my hand to my thigh, steering the truck with the other, “Did you want to see me, princess?”
“Hardly,” She rolls her eyes.
I sink my teeth into my bottom lip, grinning, “I don’t believe you. You’re curious.”
“What’s there to be curious of?” She scoffs.
“Me.”
Her eyes dart to me and then drop to the scarring she can see on my arm. My spine goes stiff and my teeth snap together. At this point, I’m used to people staring at them but there’s something about her seeing them that has me going rigid. My fingers curl a little tighter on the wheel, ready for whatever question she’s going to throw at me but then none come – well none that refer to them anyway.
“Do you like working with cars?”
“Done it all my life,” I tell her truthfully, “It’s all I know.”
“Really?”
“I was tinkering with cars when I was five and my dad was still around, learned everything I know from my brother, but what do you do?” I change the subject.
But she shakes her head, “Nothing worth knowing.”
Interesting.
I turn the truck down an old dirt road, gravel and dust kicking up behind us and press a little firmer on the gas. I mean it’s an old truck, the shop does well, but not that well, and it doesn’t have much to it, but it speeds up and I watch her hands curl against the worn fabric of the seat.
A cute little giggle escapes her as the wind whips through the cab and rips the ribbon from her hair, blowing it down into the footwell beneath me though she doesn’t seem to notice as she tilts her head to the wind.
I keep the pace the whole way down the road, keeping watch out the corner of my eye. Her smile is wide, eyes bright.
The things I could show her, I just have to convince her to keep coming back.
Eventually, I must slow and make the turn to pull us up to the garage, bringing the truck to a stop in front of the shutter door that is covered in white and neon green graffiti. A neon green sign reading Sinclair Motors sits above the reception door, a few gutted cars parked at the edge of the small lot out front.
Marly leans forward to look at it closer. The garage is set at the back of town, surrounded on one side by the forest, the creek only a short walk down and the other side is fields and dirt roads. It’s a way out for a garage but business booms for us, we are the only garage on this side of town and none of the locals here want to pay the premium prices the garages up town charge.
I keep my prices low, barely above cost to help out this community but it keeps it running and gives me a roof over my head, even if that roof is the very place I work out of.
I plan to one day build a log cabin in these woods, not too far from the garage and the savings in my bank will go toward it. A few more years and I’ll be there to do it.
“I’ll get you unloaded and into a bay,” I tell her, “Then you can call whoever you need to.”
With a nod, I climb from the truck and head round to her side, but I don’t open the door.
“Wait in there till I’m ready, there’s glass and shit on the floor and you’re not wearing shoes.”
“Right, okay,” She nods, sinking back into the chair. “Do you need help?”
I cock a brow and grin, “Nah, I’m good, princess.”
I feel her eyes watching me the entire time I’m walking away and with it, I know I just got a little bit closer to the finish line.