Bonus Epilogue
Wrecker
Someone was crouched under the hood, hands smudged with grease. I pulled over.
“Car trouble?” I called.
“Yeah. Stupid, beautiful piece of junk!”
The voice was sharp, feminine, and full of fire. A woman popped out from under the hood, brushing oil-smeared strands of hair from her face. She gave my bike a quick once-over, then me, and I swear I felt a jolt.
I was still in my coveralls from work, grease in my hair, hands smelling like engine oil. And somehow she didn’t seem fazed. Instead, there was a spark in her eyes—curiosity, maybe amusement, maybe defiance.
I cleared my throat. “You need a hand?”
She tilted her head, one brow raised.
I wiped my hands on my coveralls, squinting at the engine. “Looks like a stuck carburetor. I can take a look if you want.”
She crossed her arms, stance tight, eyes sharp. “I’m pretty sure I don’t need some grease monkey poking around my car.”
I smirked, leaning on my bike. “Hey, I don’t just poke. I fix.”
Her lip twitched like she was holding back a laugh, or a scowl. Hard to tell. “I’ve got exactly zero time for you or your fixing, thanks.”
I raised my hands in mock surrender. “Fair. But if you change your mind, I know my way around old Mustangs. And I don’t bite… usually.”
She shook her head, muttering under her breath as she crouched back down, fiddling with the engine again. “Great. Just what I need, some guy thinking he can charm me while my car dies on the side of the road.”
And damn it, that little fire in her voice? It made me grin. I already knew I wasn’t walking away from this one.