Page 11 of Seasons of Love
Maybe it was for the best. He could be the mysterious inspiration for my new character…Slade.
5
SLADE
"Fuck!"
"Slade?"
"Out here," I answered from under the fucking car.
Liam had gone out to Spilled Beans to get us coffee, and in my misplaced sense of teamwork, I decided to change the oil filter in a car we'd had in this morning with an oil leak. Liam was probably going to kill me and ask me to stop helping out and stick to working on the bikes.
I hated working with cars. They were messy, bulky, and had a lot less class than a Harley, in my opinion. No one ever looked sexy driving a car…unless it was an Aston Martin, of course.
Sadly, that was not the kind of car I was unlucky enough to get stuck under while doing the simplest task in the world and still managing to spill oil all over my shirt.
"Oh man, so many jokes, such a small audience," Wren said. I didn't need to see him to recognize his voice.
"Hey, respect your elders. You're here for your mom's car?"
"I was, but now I'm wondering what filming a mechanic coming out from under a car all rugged and oil stained will do to my sex life."
I replaced the drain plug and tightened it. That was the end of the messy job, now I just needed to fit the new filter.
"Put that phone away or I'll charge you double. Besides, with the smooshy-happy face Tom goes around with, I didn’t think you had any problems with your sex life."
I heard two sets of chuckles. Considering the way he was joking, I assumed Wren was with someone we both knew. Or at least I hoped he was.
The last thing I needed was for a new customer to hear the exchange and have a bad impression of me and my business.
Not that they'd get a better one once they saw me wearing engine oil on a T-shirt that would never be white again.
I slid out from under the car. "Thanks for waiting, Wren. Let me just change this shirt before I—" The rest of my words became lodged in my throat, as thick as the oil coating my clothes. Because right there next to Wren, was the owner of those brown eyes that had haunted my dirty dreams all weekend.
A. Lawton…Aiden.
He grinned. "We meet again. Did you have a chance to read the book?"
I looked at him and then Wren, who was staring back at me with strange interest.
"You two know each other?" Wren asked.
"Yes, we met on Saturday at the fair, but I was short-changed," he said.
"How so?" I asked, trying to ignore the fact that A. fucking Lawton stood in front of me like an advertisement for fashionable casual clothing while I was a mess.
"I never got your name."
His gaze scanned over me. If this was another place, and he was another man, I'd think he was undressing me with his eyes, but he looked like he was cataloguing me as if he wanted to remember all the details down to the shape of the oil stains on my shirt.
I followed his gaze. He wasn't wearing his glasses today, which I thought was a shame.
He stopped when he noticed my tattooed arms, and I swear I saw a hint of a blush rising up his neck.
"Slade. Slade Warren." I stretched out my hand but pulled it back again when I saw all the oil, turning to grab the nearest rag I could find.
His smile had a hint of shyness now, which I didn't think suited him.
