Page 37 of Villainous Summer

“Sunshine, you don’t owe me an inch of your body.”

But damn if I didn’t want it all.

She stuck out a hand for me to shake.

With her palm against mine, a knowing spark traveled up my arm.

I fought the urge to kiss the back of her hand. Still holding onto her, I pulled her closer until we were both leaning against the counter. “First things first, though, let’s get your car in better order.”

She followed me out to the garage, where I instructed her to sit in a camping chair while I worked.

From my angle under the car, her legs looked damn near perfect.

Summer

With my legs crossed in the canvas camping chair, I watched as Van slid under my car and began deftly changing my oil.

Admittedly, while I was raised by a blue-collar worker, most of my boyfriends had been business types. Cory had rows of crisp white button-downs and a special hanger for his ties. Casual to him was designer jeans instead of slacks. I doubted he owed a single pair of work pants, let alone steel-toed boots.

When I got with my first boyfriend, a perfectly nice guy who I ended up dumping for the asshole who left me at homecoming, my father told me I’d need one of two things in a man. Either one handy enough to fix things or someone who makes enough money to pay someone else to do it for me. While sexist and reductive to my gender, he wasn’t wrong.

I had long held the belief that, since I wasn’t about to climb beneath the undercarriage of my car, I’d need good money to have others do it for me. And there I was, watching this strong, handsome man fix it like it was his job.

Since the only people I had really watched work on cars were my father, uncle, and cousins, I hadn’t realized how sexy it was. Seeing the skillful way he worked was heating me up, and I had visions of those fingers moving just as deftly across my skin.

I couldn’t ogle him as he tinkered. That would be obscene and objectifying. I needed a distraction from the brawny man whose hands were on my underbody.

I pulled out my phone.

According to the notifications I was getting on Cory’s email, people were responding to the fake ads. Now onto the next part of my plan.

I pulled up an AI-generating photo app.

While I wasn’t a fan of using this sort of program typically, ethically, it felt better to have a made-up person for communication. Hair color, brown. Eye color, blue. Full lips and a smaller bust.

I popped all these into the generator and waited. Three down was the perfect fake girl. If Kodi and I could have been cousins, this girl would have been a half sister.

I downloaded several shots of her and created the account. It was an easy twenty bucks to buy fake bot followers. Between AI pictures, I included scenery photos, food, and generic quotes like the ones Autumn loved to send to us. Thirty minutes in, I had my catfish poised for Cory.

@Candy_is_Handy was born.

Van was finishing up with my car in my peripheral. He popped my hood, poured different fluids in various spots, commenting about how something or the other was low.

“Did you hear me?” He was standing over me, wiping his hands on a blue rag identical to the one he used on the day I busted in on him.

“Um . . .” I set my phone face down in the cupholder and gave him my most innocent smile. “Check my blinker fluid.”

I may not like working on greasy cars, but I knew enough from being around people growing up to know the joke.

He scowled. “Hilarious. You need new wipers. Those are cracked.”

“I can do that.”

“And you probably need to get your tires rotated soon, too. There’s more wear on the—”

“Hey, Hot Rod. I’ve got it. Chill.” My attention was back on my phone screen.

A few random dudes followed Candy but no one I knew yet.

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