Chapter 4
Sterling
What the hell am I doing? I mutter to myself as I turn the shower on.
It is dated, but functional. All I care about, is that it works.
I’m not sure why I decided to stick around, and why I continue to prolong our interactions with each other.
There is something about her. I’m losing my mind, but I don’t give a shit.
I’m sure she will start to drive me crazy—in the wrong way—and then I’ll be ready to get rid of her.
There is something nagging in the back of my mind.
I want to get to the shop and start looking around under the hood of that truck of hers.
Why would someone want this girl to break down on the side of the road—did they expect her vehicle to crash?
What were their intentions? Was she into something she shouldn’t be?
My gut was telling me no. I know I have only spent an hour with her while she was conscious, but I pride myself on being able to read people.
If someone is out to hurt her, it isn’t her fault.
She seemed very surprised that anyone would tamper with her vehicle.
I’m broken out of my inner musings by the sound of her voice.
She is on the phone with someone, probably letting them know she is alive.
“Everything is fine Liz,” I hear her say exasperatedly.
“I swear, I’m good—I would have called you, but you have your own things to deal with, mainly your newborn. Does he ring a bell,” she questions.
I turn off the shower and hear her hurriedly hang up.
All of a sudden I hear the water flip on in what must be her bathroom.
I’m toweling off when an image of her all slippery and wet in the shower flashes through my brain.
I look down at my dick, and will the half hard on I suddenly have down.
Now is not the time. I’m almost forty years old for chrissakes, I should have better self control.
I grab the change of clothes that I keep in my duffle bag and pull them on. I patted myself on the back for having it. It is always a good idea for a mechanic to have a change of clothes on him, you never know what kind of a mess you are going to get into.
I open the door and walk out inspecting her cottage as I go.
I notice her sink in the kitchen is dripping.
I open the cabinet door and see she has a bucket underneath the pipes.
The bucket has about an inch of water in it.
Jesus, has this girl never heard of a plumber?
Just as I’m about to get into the mess under the sink, I hear her come out of her bedroom.
“Oh! I need to empty that bucket before we go,” she exclaims. Her short hair is wet and a bit messy. She is barefoot and wearing ripped jeans and a simple black t-shirt. The shirt is mostly loose, but does nothing to hide her curves.
Licking my lips, I shake my head to try to snap out of my stupor. “How long has it been leaking,” I ask tersely. She rolls her eyes, adjusts her glasses, and runs her hands through her damp hair.
“I don’t know, a couple of weeks—it isn’t a big deal, I just haven’t had time to get it fixed,’’ she says exasperatedly. She huffs a bit and crosses her arms in front of her again. This draws my eyes to her chest again. She notices my gaze and quickly drops her arms to her sides.
Clearing my throat, I avert my gaze to under the sink. “I’m sure it is a quick fix, I can take a look at it tonight when I come back to drop you off.”
Her eyes widen comically. “You mean my truck won’t be fixed today,” she asks in a thin tone, on the verge of panic. She takes a deep breath and shakes her head. It is almost like she resets herself. It is kind of cute. Cute, where the hell did that come from?
“Probably not,” I continue. “From what I saw last night, I may need to order a part. 94 Bronco parts aren’t readily available these days,” I explain.
My eyes start to look her over again, lingering on her impressive rack, and then traveling down her curvy form.
She turns around to head down the hallway.
“Let me just grab a sweatshirt and throw on some shoes, I’ll be ready to go in 5 minutes,” she calls out over her shoulder. In a few minutes she returns with a black hoodie on and a pair of grey converse . She has a grey backpack slung over her shoulder.