Page 7 of Speeding Hearts

It was yet another asshole move.

I picked up my phone and shot Stella a text. “Hey,” I said.

Pretty casual for a dude who’s been agonizing over texting for two days straight.

“Welcome to Oak Bend!”

I hit send before I could regret it.

Her reply came a moment later.

“I was beginning to think I’d come to the wrong town.”

“Sorry, busy as hell. Beer tonight? I can pick you up.”

There was a long pause where she didn’t write back. I made myself leave my phone on the desk and went and got suited up to do some actual mechanical work out in the garage. Half of me—a chicken-ass half—hoped she’d say she’d be too tired after her first day on the job. I was sure my uncle had probably put her through the wringer.

But when my phone buzzed and I snatched it up, I saw she was up for it.

Well, shit. No avoiding Stella Archer now.

Chapter 3

Stella

Two days Deanhad taken me to text back. Two days. I’d been worried at first, then pissed. Then, I’d come back around to who-the-hell-cares, I-wasn’t-here-for-him-anyway energy.

I still responded withcan’t wait, of course.

It had helped—in a shitty way—that my old civic had broken down on Sunday, distracting me from the fact that I’d texted him on Saturday night announcing my arrival and still hadn’t heard a peep from him.

You’d think a mechanic would take better care of her own car. And I did. But I’d prided myself on having the same vehicle since I was sixteen years old. It was a fifteen-year-old car when I’d bought it (for $300, from one of my Dad’s garage’s customers—one other thing Dean and I had in common—dad mechanics too), so now it was a 30-year-old antique. Plus, I drove the shit out of that little car.

The drive over here might have been the thing that wrecked her, because I’d spent most of Sunday getting her running again.

It hadn’t been easy, given I’d had to do it in the motel parking lot.

With the greasy front desk guy glaring at me every time he walked by. But I’d figured it out, because that’s what I do.

Growing up, I’d spent my early years being the helpless little kid in the family. With two older brothers who always seemed to know more than I did about everything. I hated it, so I’d learned quickly how to not be helpless. How to figure things out myself, even if they weren’t things girls normally did. Like how to build a slingshot. How to wrestle. And how to fix cars. The last thing I’d learned by hanging out in my Dad’s garage. It was only natural that I had become obsessed with cars. My dad was a quiet, serious kind of guy. Except when he was talking about cars. I’d learned fast that I could get him to light up by talking about engine cylinders and spark plugs. The only thing he didn’t share my enthusiasm for was race cars.

And the idea of me driving them.

Luckily, he didn’t have to worry about that yet.

On top of Dean straight up ignoring me for two days when I got here, my new boss, Colin, had made it very clear that I wouldn’t be going anywhere near the driver’s seat in any of these cars I was working on. Most drivers, I’d learned, brought their own cars to the speedway. But Dean had told me back in Jewel Lakes that Colin had over twenty of his own cars that he made available for sale or sometimes training. It was what had clinched it for me. I could earn my keep and get behind the wheel of a racing vehicle for the first time in my life.

And I’d be far away from home and my worrywart older brothers while I was doing it.

But Colin apparently had other things in mind.

The minute I’d walked into the giant outbuilding at the Oak Bend Speedway that functioned as the shop at eight a.m. sharp this morning, Colin O’Malley had introduced me to the two other guys there as not only Dean’s little friend, but, “Dean’s little friend who thinks she’s a driver.”

The lead mechanic, a plump, middle-aged man named John had chortled with laughter, and I’d stood there feeling my cheeks go hot and hating myself for it.

“Not only did you get me a woman assistant, but she’s a driver too? Hot damn,” John said. “Thought you wanted to get things jumpin’ this summer, Colin!”

Fury bubbled up inside of me. “First of all, I have a name. It’s Stella, and I’d appreciate it if you used it.” I directed this to both John and Colin. “Second, I’m nobody’s assistant, and you said as much when you hired me. I’m an ASE-certified mechanic who’s run my own garage for a decade. I’m here to learn about modified stocks and train as a driver on my own time, as Oak Bend Speedway management permits.”

---