Page 5 of The Mechanic's Virgin

A few hours later,I’m still trying to calm down as Emily and I pull up at the lake. The fire’s already going, and I can see the outline of people clustered around as we hop out of her car.

Still no call from Nash. He said he’d get to my car today. Maybe he got busy. He does have an entire business to run, and it’s not like he’s employed by my father.

“Where’s your head tonight?” Emily asks, practically reading my mind like she always does. “You have another fight with your dad or something?”

I shake my head. “No. Just…worried about my car.” I’ve chosen not to tell her about Nash. I’m not sure why. I never hide things from Emily, but right now, my encounter feels a bit like a secret–a secret I’d like to keep to myself for as long as possible.

“Your parents will pay the bill if you ask them,” she scoffs.

“Yeah, I know. But it’s Grandma’s car, and I want to make sure it stays in good shape.”

We start to walk down the grassy slope to the fire, and that’s when I see some guy wearing cowboy boots and a tank top startto walk toward us. He’s got a glint in his eye, and Emily giggles at me. “Tyler. My date for tonight. Isn’t hehot!?He plays football.”

I shrug. He’s okay. But compared to Nash, he looks like a boy.

“And…” Emily points to a guy walking beside him, wearing a red Polo shirt and Bermuda shorts with flip-flops. “Yourdate. His name’s Arthur.”

I sigh and stop dead in my tracks. “You’re kidding, right, Emily? If I’d known you’d set me up with Mini-Trump I would never have come out tonight.”

“I know,” she laughs. “Which is precisely why I didn’t tell you!”

I want to protest more, but the guys have already reached us.

“Sup, Em.” Tyler smiles. She smiles back.

“Arthur, this is Grace,” she says. “Grace, this is Arthur.”

“You didn’t tell me your friend was such a babe,” Arthur snorts, sounding like he’s already had a few. “You don’t have an O.F. do you? Cause I’ddefinitelysubscribe to that!”

Emily winces beside me, clearly already regretting her invitation.

“Why don’t we go down to the bonfire?” Tyler suggests. Arthur slides up beside me and slips an arm around my waist. He smells like cigarettes and beer, and I immediately recoil, but he holds firm, like he thinks he has some right to my body or something.

“That’s–a little tight–” I say, but he’s got a real tight grip on me. I try to struggle politely, but it’s useless. He’s drunk and has zero class. I’m screwed.

And that’s when I see him.No way.

It’s Nash.

Standing in front of us, backlit by the fire, his muscled physique towering against the trees like a Greek god.

“Hands off, punk,” he growls. His arms are crossed over his chest, accentuating his bulging biceps beneath his oil-stained T-shirt. He’s wearing a scowl that saysI’ll rip the throat out of anyone who touches her.

For a second, Arthur looks like he’s going to step up to Nash–which would be a monumentally terrible idea. But he glances at me, then back to Nash, and thinks better of it. “All right, pal. No problem. I just met the bitch–”

A hard slap to the face from Nash shuts him up and sends him sprawling to the grass. “Watch your mouth around the lady.”

Emily gasps, and the next thing I know, Nash has my hand in his and is pulling me away into the woods.

My heart is pounding in my ears. My cheeks are on fire. Goosebumps have broken out all over my body, and I’m absolutely shaking with adrenaline. Holy moly, that was hot!

“How are you here!?” I hiss as my legs move automatically. I hear Emily call after me and wave a hand to let her know I’m okay.

“I was parked by the lake relaxing when these kids all showed up,” he replies. “Did you run home and then come back out so you could tempt me again?”

I open my mouth, but no words come out. He stops and looks down at me. I didn’t really notice until now just how tall he is. He’s well over six feet. “You know, you practically glow under the moonlight,” he says, his eyes traveling down my halter top, which now feelsveryshort andverylow.

“I–I had no idea you’d be here, Nash,” I stammer, feeling extremely vulnerable.

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