Page 4 of Car Wash
This is her? The girl who was always late coming downstairs for Sunday dinner because she was somewhere with her nose buried in a book?
For a second, I feel like I’ve taken a punch straight to the solar plexus. No air. Just heat. Pressure. Every cell in my body tuning itself to her.
“Would you like one of us to wash your car?” she says, a smile playing at the corners of her lips.
“I don’t like people touching what’s mine,” I say, holding her gaze and taking a small step forward.
“Then I’m afraid you’ve come to the wrong place,” she says.
“No,” I say. “I’m exactly where I need to be.”
She tilts her head to the side.
“You look…”
She presses her lips together, waiting—either for whatever dumb thing I’m about to say or just to fuck with me. The sunlighthits her just right, turning every golden strand of her hair into something I want to touch. There’s no version of this sentence that won’t get me in trouble.
“What?”
“You look annoyed,” she says. “Like someone just told you we’re dumping oil into a lake.”
“I’m not annoyed,” I say. “Just… surprised.”
“By what?”
You. That little smile. The knot in your shirt. The way your lips part like you’re about to say something else.
And the fact that I’ve been hard since the second you looked at me.
“I don’t know,” I finally say.
She clears her throat.
“Well, in case you were wondering,” she says, straightening up, “this whole thing is environmentally sound. Biodegradable soap, recycled water, lemon peels in the compost. The flyers are laminated so we can reuse them. We’re basically saints.”
I almost laugh.
Now this is the girl I remember.
But she’s not that girl anymore.
Her face is… unreal. Smooth, golden skin with that impossible glow—like she’s been lit from within. Full lips with a faint sheen, slightly parted like she’s always about to say something.
But it’s her eyes that hit hardest—blue, impossibly bright, framed by lashes so long they cast little shadows on her cheeks when she blinks.
“Good to know,” I say, trying to keep my voice level.
“Excuse me,” her friend cuts in, grabbing Sarah by the wrist. “We have actual paying customers to attend to.”
Vivid fantasies run through my head as I watch Sarah leave. I have my car right here. I could throw her into the passenger seat and ride off into the sunset with her.
She stops mid-step and turns around to face me.
“There’s free lemonade if you’d like to stick around,” she says, pointing toward a folding table under a tent.
Like to stick around? There’s no fucking way I’m leaving now.
My eyes stay locked on Sarah’s cute little ass as she walks across the parking lot, hair bouncing with every step, legs bare and golden in the sun.
