Page 6 of Penalty Box
I left my bag on the passenger seat and popped the hood, shivering as the wind knifed through my clothes. I stared at the engineering with all the confidence of a man who’d once Googled ‘how to tell if your engine is dead.’
Steam hissed faintly.
“Okay, this doesn’t look too bad.”
I poked at something metal. It didn’t move. I poked again. Something else snapped off and went clattering across the parking lot.
Fantastic.
It bounced and skidded to a stop against the wheel of Hunter’s Jeep. Because of course it would.
I took a step back and shoved my hands into my jacket pockets. The only thing to do was catch a lift and fork out however many dollars the tow truck was going to overcharge me to bring my car back to the apartment. I couldn’t wait until my draft contract was up and I was makingrealmoney.
“You planning to fix that with positive thought?” I’d recognize that voice anywhere. Dry as desert sand.
I turned so fast I almost tripped up. Because there she was. The firestarter.
Minus the coveralls, but still wearing grease like it was a fashion statement. Cap pulled low, ponytail tucked through the back, and a ratty hoodie that had survived too many oil changes. She had a toolbox in one hand and a granola bar in the other.
“Positive thought until roadside assistance shows up,” I said, then immediately winced at my winning choice of first words.
She smirked. “Don’t sweat it. It’s like a law for Surge rookies to drive glorified lawnmowers.”
“Not a rookie anymore,” I corrected her, but she didn’t seem to care.
Firestarter came closer and looked under the hood. There was only one other time I felt more self-conscious in my life, and it involved a lot more protective gear.
Feeling protective of my car, I said, “She’s small, but she’s got character.”
“Her character’s overheating,” she replied with a soft laugh.
With one hand she peeled the wrapper from her granola bar, and with the other she reached in to poke at things withunsettling confidence. I tried not to stare too much. Tried not to notice the smudge of grease on her cheek. Or how her sleeve kept riding up to reveal a delicate wrist and strong forearm.
“You’re like a Barbie mechanic.”
“Excuse me?” It was enough to make her stop what she was doing and glare at me. Like I’d just called her the devil incarnate.
“I mean— I was just… Granola bar in one hand, toolbox in the other. It’s cool. A good thing. I meant it as a compliment.”
I also couldn’t stop myself from rambling, apparently.
“Barbie’s got nothing on me,” she said, one corner of her mouth tilting up in a wry smile.
She kept me on my toes and at the risk of repeating myself— Hot. If I wasn’t careful, I’d be walking away from this with third-degree burns.
Her inspection moved onto something near the belt tensioner, then she leaned closer to my side to look at some other wiring. And since she wasn’t paying any attention to me, I dipped my head just enough to get a whiff of her shampoo. Closed my eyes to it—the sweet smell of coconut and vanilla.
Goddamn. This woman was going to ruin me.
“How did you get into all this?” I asked, abandoning my pride at this point. “Did you just wake up one day and decide to fix things?”
“Something like that,” she said with a shrug. “You either learn how things work or waste time waiting for someone else to fix it. And I’m impatient.”
She tapped something and stood back. “Alternator’s on life support.”
“Yeah, I was just about to say that.” She side-eyed me, but had enough grace to leave my lie alone. “Right after I checked the thermostat. Or maybe it was the… carburetor?”
She bit her lips to keep from laughing. Another grace afforded to me. That meant I wasn’t doing too badly.
