“Don’t look now, but Dr. Schlong is looking your way,” Frannie reported. “I heard he was banging Big Lips, Fake Tits. If they had a kid together, what do you think it would look like? I mean, there’s no telling what features Big Lips had before all that plastic surgery. I bet their offspring would be butt-ugly. And I’m not talking ‘Awww, isn’t your baby precious?’ type ugly, I’m talking full on ‘Grab your torches and pitchforks’ hideous.”

“All babies are gifts,” I answered feebly, looking around in the hopes that no one had overheard our conversation. The disgusted looks on the faces of those closest to us told me they had.

“Oh, I’m not saying the little goblin wouldn’t be a gift; I’m just saying they might want to keep it covered up as much as possible.”

Remember when I mentioned that I had one ‘friend’ at work that no one liked? Well, I present to you Francesca Marley, the most hated woman in the hospital and the only nurse who could make me look good. In her early forties, unmarried, and living alone like me, Francesca gave the whole lot of us single ladies a bad name. The words that rolled off her tongue were almost always mean-spirited and offensive. Nurses transferred to other hospitals just to get away from her. Frannie’s vitriol had started wars, broken up marriages, and caused grown men to weep.

When I’d first started at the hospital, I’d heard tales of the legendary Francesca, but nothing could have prepared me for the real thing. The day of our first meeting, when she walked into the cafeteria and a hush fell over the room, I knew she’d arrived. Lifting my head ever so slightly to get a peek at this mythical creature, I was horrified to discover her making a beeline straight for me.

“Emma McKallister?” the harsh voice asked.

Squaring my jaw and raising my head high, I nodded. Perhaps it was the fact that I’d been dealing with spiteful coworkers for weeks already, but I sure as hell didn’t plan to take any additional shit from Francesca.

“I’ve been watching you,” she said, in a tone I couldn’t quite read.

“Okay. And what have you seen?”

“Enough to know what I’m dealing with.” Francesca smiled, but it came out more like a disturbing leer. “Can I sit?”

She didn’t wait for my reply, which would have been a big, fat No, before taking the empty seat across from me. As if we were old friends reminiscing, Frannie proceeded to give me the rundown of the hospital, complete with every dirty detail she’d collected over the years. I sat in horrified fascination as one story after another left her mouth, unable to pull my eyes away from the poo-flinger that was Francesca Marley.

The last thing I needed was to have more negativity attached to me, so I actively avoided any association with the woman. However, Frannie had an uncanny ability to find me in all corners of the hospital. Sometimes I wondered if she’d implanted a microchip in me for tracking purposes. Over time, I stopped fighting it and just accepted her presence in my life. What else could I do?

Strangely enough, though, the more time I spent with her, the more I began to enjoy Francesca’s company. It was refreshing to be around a person who told it like it was. Any problem she might have with me would be blasted out in front of my face, as opposed to the current method of communication employed by my other co-workers, which was to whisper it behind my back. Yes, Frannie was the single most inappropriate person I’d ever come in contact with, but her humor was, at times, wickedly funny. And under all her bravado, there was a lonely woman looking for companionship. If there was one thing we could bond over, it was that.

“Could you imagine the toothy gremlin breast-feeding? I mean, come on, clomping down on Big Lips, Fake Tits? Heaven have mercy… you know what I’m saying?”

“I do,” I whispered. “And so does everybody else.”

“Am I talking too loud?” she asked, raising her voice… on purpose.

Big Lips gave Frannie the wickedest glare. I prayed she wasn’t going to make her way over because then things would really get nasty. Part of being ‘friends’ with Francesca meant suffering through the cringe-worthy confrontations that inevitably arose from her shameless ‘honesty.’

“Emma?”

I knew that drawl, and I reluctantly lifted my eyes to find Dr. Schlong, a.k.a. Logan, a.k.a. my last hookup, smiling down upon me.

From under the table, Frannie kicked my shin. It was no light tap but a full-on karate chop. She knew of our tryst and how he’d treated me afterwards, so of course she hated him with a passion. I scowled at her, demanding restraint, before returning my attention to Logan. “Yes?”

“I was curious what you were doing this weekend. Maybe we could hang out. What do you say?”

“I’m going to Sun Desert this weekend,” I replied. But of course he already knew that; hence the reason he’d made the effort to come over to me in the first place.

“Oh, really?” he remarked, feigning ignorance. “That’s right. Your brother’s performing, isn’t he?”

I grinned. Logan was so transparent. The fact that Jake was headlining the weekend festival was no big secret. I would have had more respect for him if he’d just asked for a ticket and gotten it over with, but this whole charade of wanting to spend time with me now… it was so contrived.

“Yeah, he’s performing Saturday night.”

“Oh, huh. Well, I wouldn’t mind going there. If you wanted some company, that is.”

“Sorry, it’s my dad’s birthday, so just family is going, but thanks for the offer. Maybe I’ll see you there, though.”

“Only if you can get me a ticket or two. They’ve been sold out for months. But doesn’t Jake get a bunch of VIP passes to give out?”

Frannie kicked me again, but this time it was more a courtesy tap. Her eyes were blazing with anger. Clearly she wanted my permission to set him straight. Ahh, Francesca Marley really was a good friend to me. I couldn’t think of anyone else, outside my family, who’d be willing to defend my honor. I smiled and nodded my head in response to her request, and watched in awe as Dr. Schlong was crudely ripped a new one.

* * *

I could have driven to the concert with my family, but that would have left me without a car and without the freedom it afforded me. I’d gone to these types of festivals before and was not a fan of the rampant drugs, ear-splitting music, and ultra bitchy, wanna-be hippie-chic attitude of many of the attendees. When I wanted to relax with music, it was always of the classical variety. Just the sound of a lone piano could lift my spirits. That’s when I appreciated Jake’s music the most… the stripped down, vulnerable piano versions of his songs that he recorded in his home studio just for me. Of course, I understood that simple and sweet didn’t fill arenas. My brother gave his fans what they wanted, and usually that was in the form of screaming guitars, pulsating percussion, and stadium-stomping rock anthems.

If I wanted to be completely honest, were Jake and I not siblings, I wouldn’t be caught dead at one of his concerts. My brother knew this traitorous fact about me yet never took offense. In fact, my distaste for his music was a source of great amusement. After all, Jake and I had a long history of musical sparring.

Of all the siblings, the two of us were the only ones who’d exhibited a propensity toward the classical stylings of the piano early on, and our mother, always the opportunist, had jumped at the chance to cultivate us. While the others were out having fun, Jake and I were becoming little concert pianists. I thrived in the restrictive environment; Jake did not. The poor kid was always plotting ways of escape despite the fact that his creative abilities far outweighed my own. And that annoyed the crap out of me. I’d work hours to perfect a certain number only to have Jake, dragged in by his ear, plop down on the bench in his dirty jeans, and after a few minutes of tinkering, deliver it effortlessly.

Showoff.

I’m not going to lie; Jake’s early genius was completely lost on me. In fact, his creativity drove me to whole new levels of insanity. An obsessive perfectionist who went strictly by the book, I clung to the timeless compositions as if they were law and the breaking of them a grave and deadly sin. I’d pour every last bit of myself into some favorite classical number and then watch impatiently as Jake would take the same piece, rip it to shreds, and from its ashes, create his own uniquely daring masterpiece. No. Stop already! Musical desecration, that’s what it was! There were rules that needed to be followed. Law and order, kid. Law and frickin’ order!

As you can probably imagine, my uptight little self was eager to voice its outraged displeasure, screaming shamelessly at my brother to stop butchering my favorite melodies. My frustration knew no bounds. How was I to know that the little shaggy-haired eight-year-old was a musical prodigy? Thankfully, my brother never listened to my rants, wisely choosing to follow his own unique path. Unlike me, Jake wasn’t bound to the conventional.

By the time he hit double digits, I begrudgingly admitted to myself that Jake was going to be someone someday, and I either had to get on board the rickety life raft with him while he was still a nobody or in later years I’d be waving from the pier as he floated by on his luxury yacht. So I learned to embrace Jake’s ‘fingernails on the chalkboard’ type talent, eventually even taking great pride in his melodic massacring. Jealousy was so overrated.

My stomach scolded with loud, rolling protests as I checked the clock on the dashboard. In an effort to beat the LA traffic that would soon be crawling through the barren landscape on its way to the three-day festival, I’d skipped breakfast and now my abdomen was rebelling. It wasn’t until I found an old-school diner on my side of the road – something that was strangely important to me – that I decided to give my whiny belly a break.

Pulling into the parking lot, I immediately honed in on a guy leaning under the hood of his pickup truck. The first thing that caught my eye was the grease stain on his jeans. I felt my heart rate increase ever so slightly. I didn’t like muck… or really just anything that tainted nice, unsoiled surfaces. It was just sloppy. Maybe that’s why I’d studied to be a nurse. With its sterile goodness, the bleached blandness of the hospital always afforded me a sense of calm.

My eyebrows puckered in judgment as I took in the offending male. That oily residue was going to transfer onto something else, sullying another clean surface in the process, and in turn forcing the cycle to continue on endlessly. I inhaled sharply, trying to steady my rapidly increasing irritation. Breathe. And stop being so overly critical. No wonder people think you’re a bitch. Scanning the poor faceless dude again, I decided to cut him some slack due to the predicament he found himself in. Chances were he really couldn’t help his grimy appearance.

Then came the next speed bump in the appraisal process, and this one would prove harder to rationalize. This one involved the man’s ass, and not for the reasons you might think. His tush was encased in a pair of distressed blue jeans – so distressed in fact that a portion of his boxers was peeking out from the hole in the pocket of his left butt cheek. Dressing like a hormonal teen had nothing to do with the unfortunate circumstances he found himself in now. No, he’d actively chosen the ripped up ensemble this morning, and that aggravated me so much more than it should have. I pursed my lips and fought the urge to grab the sewing kit from my emergency supply box and stitch him up on site. Yes, sometimes there were clothing related emergencies that required immediate attention.

I shook my head at the gall of the man. All the sympathy I’d once had for his dilemma vanished. For the life of me I couldn’t understand why he would consider it a good idea to walk out of his house today with his ass hanging out of his jeans. Tacky! I liked male buttocks as much as the next girl, but I preferred them draped nicely in slacks or even tucked up in a freshly pressed pair of medical scrubs. Stuffy. Academic. Controlled. Much better. Still, the way this guy was swaying back and forth with the tiniest bit of exposed flesh peeking out just below the boxers delivered an unexpectedly swift kick to my ovaries. Easy, girls.

Driving around to one of the spots in front, I inadvertently positioned myself with a head-on snapshot of the parking lot mechanic, and the view was quite spectacular. My eyes freely roamed over his landscape. Huh. Okay. I had to admit, even with his obvious wardrobe malfunction, the guy did have a nice ass… rounded and tight, with just the right amount of, well, everything. Suddenly and without warning, my brain conjured up a rather explicit picture of his naked backside.

“Well, there’s a nice hello,” I commented to myself.

As his butt bobbed to the task at hand, so did my eyes. I couldn’t seem to break the connection. Was I really that erotically deprived that the soiled behind of a faceless stranger was all it took to rev me up? Please. I held myself to a higher standard than that, and thankfully, I was a rational woman who could see the situation for what it was. Sure, he had a notable tush, and yes, of course, it did fill out every microscopic nook of those shredded Levis, but certainly it would impress all females, not just me. And not only that, but I had to give the man props: it was rare indeed, in this day and age, to see a guy fixing his own vehicle. Certainly the grease monkey deserved some credit for that.

I loitered in my car longer than was really necessary, unable to drag my attention away from the personal peep show happening before me. I was well aware that I’d reduced him to an object gyrating on a pole; but then if he didn’t want eyes staring at his behind, he shouldn’t be exposing so much of it. It occurred to me then that I’d become overly invested in this guy in the amount of time it had taken to park my car. Maybe it was the fact that I had an incomplete picture of him that kept me bolted to my seat. I was all about attention to detail, and being such a fan of symmetry, it was important to have every miniscule fact in front of me in order to make a qualified assessment. Simply put, I could not move forward with my life until I had a face to go with the tush.

Having nothing better to do while I waited for closure, I launched a thorough investigation of his lower half. Judging strictly by the very small area of his body available to me, I’d have to say this guy didn’t spend all that much time at the gym. Not to say that he was skinny in any way, but his long, lean legs and waist-to-hip ratio suggested an athlete in top condition as opposed to a muscle man rippling with brawny strength.

Several minutes passed, and I was getting antsy. Good lord, what was taking so long… was he asking the engine out for dinner? Come on, dude, I’m hungry. Let’s get a move on.

And, as if on cue, booty man pulled out from under the covering, straightening his back and gripping the hood with his grease-stained hands. Coiled, sweaty brown curls escaped from the edges of his baseball cap and clung to his slick neck. Noooo! Not curls! Jesus. He might as well have just stayed under the hood. Curly haired dudes needed to keep it closely cropped to the scalp, or if they wanted to go a little crazy, maybe a poofed-up or slicked-back number on the top would be acceptable – but not this. Not long, wild curls. It suggested disorganization. Messy. Chaotic. Unpredictable. My pulse raced just thinking about it. Nope. Not worth the wait at all. Dammit, I’d expected so much more from an ass of that caliber.

Hungry and disappointed, I realized that in life – and attraction – some things just couldn’t be overcome. Having completely lost interest, I gathered my book and purse and was about to exit my vehicle when the mechanic demanded my attention once more. Knotted tension formed in his arms as he stood there rigidly peering down into the engine. You know what? Maybe I’d been too hasty in my gym-shaming proclamation. Veins bulged and muscles popped. Wow. It was entirely possible that he spent some quality time pumping iron. Well, good for you, Ronald McDonald. At least you have something going for you. Suddenly, and without warning, he slammed his hands against the rusty metal and dropped the f-bomb.

Unprepared for his disgruntlement, I jerked in surprise. “Easy there, stud.”

The minute the words left my mouth, he turned in my direction, a grimace of frustration etched upon his swoon-worthy face. My god! Even with that hair, this guy was a sizzler. His features were nothing short of grubby perfection. Not the classic, stuffy handsome, this man was all sexy goodness, and I felt the attraction right down to my very core. Before I could get my eyes back in their sockets, the mechanic took a pass at me, settling his stare on my star-struck face.

“Shit!” Heart fluttering with sensuous excitement, I tore my eyes away and studied my purse with unmatched interest. Yes, there was something of incredible importance inside the leather bag that required my immediate and undivided attention. Ah… right, a tube of Chapstick… that’s what I’d been searching for.

Wait a minute. Why the hell was I short of breath? This was ridiculous. What was I doing? I didn’t duck. People avoided me, not the other way around. Calm and collected, that was my motto; yet the wave of heat overwhelming me now was a clear indication that I’d lost my frickin’ mind. What did it matter if he’d been staring at me? I should have stood my ground and returned the favor of his alluring gaze with my own icy response. Instead, I’d slipped down further on my seat like some lovesick teenager.

Admittedly, the mechanic was way more attractive than his curly hair suggested, what with his squared, tensed jaw, straight sloping nose, and those pretty blue eyes. But was his jaw-dropping appearance worth the loss of my dignity? No, I didn’t think so.

Because of my knee-jerk reaction, I was now stuck. I couldn’t very well hang out under my steering wheel indefinitely, and that meant I needed to pull it together. I was a twenty-six-year old, voraciously hungry professional woman, and I had too much pride to allow myself to be trapped in parking lot purgatory with an empty stomach.

Smoothing my hair and checking my reflection in the phone, I gathered the prowess necessary to exit my vehicle. Sunglasses in place? Yes, the gold Ray-Bans would project the image I was going for: cool, uninterested chick. Exhaling audibly, I straightened back up, swung the door open, and stepped out, avoiding all eye contact with him even though I knew instinctively that he was still staring. Striding into the restaurant in a fiery display of steely confidence, my shaking hand was the only sure giveaway. Get it together, Emma. He was a guy with an ass. All men had them. No need to get worked up over that particular one.

Reclaiming my wits, I settled into the booth and gave my order to the waitress. The heat that had unexpectedly consumed me was slowly receding, and I’d nearly managed to push all thoughts of the guy from my mind when his gorgeous face exploded into my visible horizon once more. Entering through the front doors, the mechanic scanned the room as I watched. He was looking for me, I was sure of it. And when he found me, those eyes of his grabbed hold of mine, and this time neither one of us looked away. My body immediately switched the furnace back to the high setting, and warmth spread everywhere. Even my cheeks blushed, and I hadn’t done that since I was a pimply teen.

After that moment of unplanned attraction, his eyebrows did a little dance of amusement as he bestowed upon me a slightly upturned smile. To my surprise, it wasn’t full of arrogance, as I’d come to expect from the smiles that came attached to the men I generally spent time with. Their grins were usually predatory and uninviting… but not this guy’s smile. His seemed surprisingly genuine – probably because that mop of hair, still under the protection of the baseball cap, forced him to put a little muscle behind his personality.

My stomach tightened, and instead of holding my ground as I normally did, I unexpectedly looked away… again. Something about him made me nervous. He was a good-looking guy, for sure, but I was no stranger to beautiful men. The prettier they were, the easier they were to manipulate. A little ego stroking was usually all that was needed to bend them to my will; but for whatever reason, I knew the mechanic wouldn’t fall for such games. He was a real guy, living a normal life. Why did that freak me out?

And why was I so damn excited by him? Before I’d hastily looked away, I couldn’t help but notice the dark t-shirt clinging to his sweaty body and the cuffs on his short sleeves hugging his strong arms and the grease stains that streaked his body and even speckled his scruffy face. On paper, this guy was everything I avoided… dirty and sweaty and greasy and curly. I imaged after a night of passion with him, a woman would have to go through a full series of decontamination procedures. And yet, while I condemned him for breaking every hygienic rule in the book, I couldn’t help being inexplicably drawn to his unsterile sexiness.

By the time I’d found the audacity to look back up at him, the guy was gone. Evidentially he’d decided not to stick around for my juvenile antics. Good for him. Feeling flushed and unsettled, I grabbed my book and attempted to continue the story I’d begun before my concentration had been stolen away. But no matter how many times I read the words, I couldn’t get the image of him out of my mind.

Lunch arrived, offering me a welcome distraction. With one hand holding my book and the other used to ungracefully shovel food, I didn’t see the object of my affection until his smooth male voice interrupted my juggling act.

“Hey, I’m sorry to bother you.”

Of course I knew it was him, and yes, he was bothering me; at least that’s what I told myself in order to keep from squealing like one of Jake’s fangirls. I shot my head up, determined to put him in his place with a show of strength and prominence but was greeted with the warmest, most inviting smile I’d ever seen from such a handsome male face. My steely façade melted into puddles, and I smiled back at him with the same affecting emotion. Oh, no no no. What was happening here? Was I about to look away again? No, Emma! Don’t do it… be strong. Dammit! Once again I was staring down at my hands. Coward.

Who knew I could be such a spineless wimp when presented with unparalleled hotness? This was just painful now. Maybe it was the unpredictable nature of his being, or maybe it was my guilt for having eye-fucked him in the parking lot, but whatever it was, my body was responding. I was like a volcano that had lain dormant for a century only to be awakened by a magnificent rock tossed into its core. And now all that molten fury was just churning around, waiting for its chance to erupt.

My female reproductive system wasn’t the only thing with a life of its own; my eyes were also wildly off kilter. Once they finally looked back up, they scanned every inch of the beautiful man, taking note of each blemish and categorizing the shades that swam in his light blue eyes. They’d already calculated the time since his last shave – yesterday afternoon – just enough time to dust his jawline with grit but not enough to qualify as stubble.

My restless eyes traveled downward over his grimy body. Nothing escaped my notice, not the strapping chest or the bronzed skin or the dirt flecks on his denim crotch. But it was the grease stain on the man’s thigh, and how he’d chosen to tackle it, that snapped me out of my pheromone-induced infatuation. Just as I’d suspected he would, the mechanic had chosen to simply rub the spot with water, and now the stain was double in size. No way could I let such a gaffe slide.

“Paper towels,” I blurted out.

“Excuse me?”

“You need to blot grease stains with paper towels, then sprinkle them with some baby powder. Afterwards, you should be able to scrape it off with a spoon.”

Ass-guy had an expression on his face I couldn’t quite read. Clearly my interruption had robbed him of the words he’d prepared to dazzle me with. No matter. He was quick on his feet.

“And to think, today of all days, I left my baby powder at home.”

His response took me by surprise, and I laughed unexpectedly.

He beamed, as if making me chuckle had been on his agenda from the very beginning.

“Salt and baking soda work too… if you even care.”

“I actually don’t… but if it bothers you that much, I guess I could give it a try.”

“I’m not bothered.”

Yes. I was. So incredibly hot and bothered.

He smirked in a knowing way. Somehow, he already had me pegged. How could he know that his lackluster approach to sanitation was driving me frickin’ insane? If I could do it without looking like a complete freak, I’d be on my knees sprinkling him with white, fluffy dust and scraping the muck off myself.

“I just don’t like…” I began, stopping my sentence to flick my eyes over him. “Messes.”

The parking lot mechanic picked up on my diss right away and found it wildly funny. I hadn’t really been joking, but whatever. Damn, these regular, down-home type boys were easy to please. I felt myself relaxing under his friendly gaze, and that warm tingle returned. Maybe I’d been putting too much stock in deodorized metrosexuals. Could it really be that I craved a little stink in my life? God knows this guy could deliver.

“So, um… I almost forgot what I came over here for.” His eyes again connected to mine, and the intrigue in them told me I had his full attention. How, I had no idea. After all my stupid schoolgirl antics, I was surprised he hadn’t run far away in the opposite direction. “Anyway, I guess you saw that my truck crapped out on me. Sorry about the language out there. I didn’t know anyone was watching.”

Oh, yes. I’d been watching. I decided not to mention that I’d been observing him long enough to know that his right butt cheek did a cute little twitch every time he shifted positions or that I knew the exact color and style of his underwear – blue checkered boxer briefs.

“Don’t worry about that.” I shrugged. “I’ve got brothers.”

He smiled again, and as my heart pounded a little faster, I realized something strange was happening… his coiled tresses were becoming more appealing with every word he spoke. My eyes narrowed in on this man standing before me, looking for fault in him and finding it everywhere and nowhere all at once. The rave going on in my lady parts was no joke. I was beguiled. Everything about him was absolutely wrong for me, but for some inexplicable reason, his do-it-yourself charms felt oh so right.

“Anyway, I was just wondering if you happened to be headed to Sun Desert.”

I blinked in surprise. How in the world would he have known that? Was he a reporter? Had he followed me here? Then I remembered that he’d been at the diner first, with his head buried in the engine when I’d arrived.

“Your clothes.” He smiled at my obvious confusion. “You look like you might be headed there is all.”

Damn Casey and her eye for fashion. The dress she’d picked was too revealing, and now this guy was assuming things that he needn’t be. I snapped out of my wide-eyed infatuation. Survival instincts took over. Giving some stranger information about my plans was stupid and risky.

He seemed confused by my lack of response. “So…uh… are you going?”

“Why do you want to know?” I answered his question with my own.

“I’m glad you asked,” he said in a jokey tone, breaking the tension. At the same time, his head did this adorable little tilt, causing my own to feel a tad dizzy. “Because I’m currently looking for a ride.”

I gaped at him. Seriously? As if I were going to drive some tousle-haired transient through the desert! It didn’t matter how hot he was; it wasn’t worth the risk. “Uh, no.”

The grease-stained guy seemed taken aback by my uncompromising reply. Not seeing a need to drag it out any further, I dropped my eyes back down to my book, hoping he’d leave after realizing I had nothing to offer him. But, to my surprise, he just stood there.

“I have some money. I can pay you.”

“I don’t pick up hitchhikers,” I said, without looking up.

“And normally I’d applaud you for that, but I’m in a huge bind here. Plus, technically, I’m not a hitchhiker yet.”

He had a point, although I still wasn’t stupid enough to give him a ride. Putting my book down, I gave him my full attention. “I’m sure you’ll find someone to pick you up.”

“Yeah, some creep with a bloody ax.”

I gave him a full body scan. “You look like a big, sturdy guy. My bet is you just might survive.”

“Surviving has never been my strong suit.” I had no idea what he meant by that statement, but he seemed to find it amusing, so I gave him a courtesy smile in response.

He must have taken my momentary lapse in judgment as a sign to up the begging. “Come on, please help me out. I’m going to miss the entire first day of the festival if I die.”

This dude really wasn’t very committed to his survival. “I fail to see how that’s my problem.”

Again he seemed caught off-guard by my aloofness; obviously he knew nothing of my resting bitch face condition.

“It’s not your problem, per se. I was just appealing to your humanity.”

Oh, geez. Humanity? He was digging deep. “How do you know I’m not an ax murderer?”

“You’re reading a romance novel.”

I glanced down at my book with a half naked guy on the cover. Embarrassed, I turned it over.

“So can you help me out?” There was a teasing tone to his voice, and when I met his eye, he grinned in the sweet and affecting way that had unexpectedly started up my very rusty engines. Lord. He was laying on the charm. I wasn’t sure if I’d survive this stage of the assault. This was precisely the type of guy I’d sworn off years ago for my own safety. They were just too easy to fall for. I needed to nip this in the bud immediately.

“You seem like a good guy,” I said, “and I’d like to help you out, but I just can’t.”

He stared at me a moment, obvious disappointment oozing from his soiled pores. “Okay, I get it. Sorry for bothering you.”

I nodded as he turned and walked away without another word. My barely revived libido puttered to an uninspired halt. There went the first flicker of carnal excitement I’d had in a very long while. Suddenly I missed my cat.

Even though the ass mechanic was no longer my problem, I couldn’t help but steal glances at him over the pages of my now totally laughable book. This author knew nothing of white-hot chemistry. I seriously doubted she’d ever had a lust-worthy hobo turn her insides into a quaking pit of searing lava. Slamming the book closed in disgust, I questioned my need for control at all times. It wasn’t just my self-imposed marriage ban that kept a stranglehold on my emotions; it was also my asinine obsession with perfection and safety. Everything in my world, right down to the tiniest piece of dust, posed a threat to my orderly life, and I found myself becoming exhausted trying to stay ahead of it all. This wasn’t the first time I’d felt the desire to step out of my comfort zone, but it certainly was the strongest.

Of course, denying a strange man a trip through the desert was the smart and sane choice, and I stood by the decision. My beef was with the long-term effects of my safety-first approach. Was it taking away my ability to live a normal life, or was it truly preventing me from dying at the hands of a hot, greasy drifter? I mean, this guy was a complete stranger. Just because he was highly attractive did not automatically disqualify him from psychopathic tendencies. For all I knew, he punched babies and pulled the wings off butterflies in his spare time. No, erring on the side of caution was always the right choice. What good was regret if I was dead?

Shrugging off the indecision, I kept my eyes firmly on the mechanic as he went table to table using that same charm he’d displayed for me on the other diners in hopes of getting a lift to the concert. And one after another, they turned him down. What a bunch of assholes. Just because I refused to place myself in peril, didn’t mean they shouldn’t. Selfish, I know. I was like one of those over-zealous mothers who took the risk of not vaccinating her own kid in hopes that all the moms in a hundred mile radius of her would.

My resolve fading fast, I was now seriously reconsidering my decision. If no one else offered him a ride, what would he do? I’d be lying if I said I secretly hoped he wouldn’t get one. I imagined myself swooping in, saving the day and enjoying sloppy sex with the grease-splattered refugee.

The cute guy’s whoop of joy shattered my dirty daydream, and I smiled at his good fortune. Just because I couldn’t be his hero didn’t mean he shouldn’t be saved. I watched with interest as he bounded out to his broken down truck. To say it was a piece of junk would be an insult to rubbish the world over. This was the type of vehicle you prayed didn’t rear-end you because you just knew the person driving it had no insurance.

My parking lot obsession pulled both a backpack and a rolled up mat out of the cab and then spent the next couple of minutes trying to shut the passenger side door. No matter what he did, the door kept popping back open, so he took to kicking it as a last resort. I giggled at the show he was putting on. With physical force clearly not working in his favor, the mechanic switched his brain to the ‘on’ position and used it to find a piece of rope to tie the door to the frame. I shook my head, grinning. He’d be lucky if someone stole the thing while he was at the concert.

Once he’d finally left with his ride, four college-age guys wearing muscle-baring tank tops and short shorts, I exhaled dramatically, effectively releasing the tension that had collected in me since I first laid eyes on his scruffiness. I hated self-doubt. It was so taxing. I’d made the right choice, not only for my physical well-being but for my mental health. A man with all that handsome messiness and slovenly charm was hazardous to my very existence – the kind of guy who pushed the limits and wanted his woman to be as fun and adventurous as he was.

That eliminated me right off the bat. There was nothing exciting and fresh about me, and the men I chose were as predictable, classically dressed, and wooden as I was. They were handsome, cocky assholes, arrogant enough to assume they were the ones using me. And when the sun came up, these faceless surrogates were easy to turn my back on and never see again. I stuck to the self-involved jerks for one very specific reason: I’d never fall in love with a guy I couldn’t stand.

* * *

After getting word from my parents that they were delayed by an hour, I took my time in the diner. No point in hurrying if I was just going to be hanging out alone in the hotel room. I ordered a vanilla shake and happily slurped the drink while I went back to reading my book. After the mechanic left and my hyped up sexual tension abated, I was more willing to accept the characters for who they were – boring excuses for human beings with a penchant for unconventional sex. I still didn’t buy the chemistry, but at least it was reciprocated between the two, unlike my one-sided infatuation.

Once back on the road, I joined a new group of cars now making their way through the desert and thought wistfully of all those lucky souls I’d been traveling with earlier. They were probably already at their destination. And now I had to get to know a whole new group of drivers. Pathetic, I know, but keeping track of my travel companions was a way to pass the time and provided a source of entertainment as I imagined what their day was like. Not surprisingly, they all had more exotic lives than I did.

Today, however, was pleasantly different, and that was a nice change of pace. I wondered what the mechanic’s name was and what he did for a living, because clearly he was no mechanic. With a truck like that, he obviously wasn’t rolling in dough. The endless daydreaming passed the time quickly, and before I knew it, I saw a sign for the fairgrounds and found myself in a long line of cars headed to the festival. My hotel was a few miles further up the road, so I knew I was going to be stuck in this crap until all the cars in front of me started piling into the fairground parking lots.

On the right side of the road, headed toward me and away from the fairgrounds, was a lone figure, lugging a backpack over his shoulder and a rolled up mat under his arm. It couldn’t be. But as I got closer, I could see him clearly: it was the guy from the diner. But what the hell was he doing leaving the festival after working so hard to get there? So curious was I that I actually pulled over and rolled down my window. The guy was drenched in sweat and had a seriously disgruntled look on his overheated face. Gone was the charming beggar.

“The concert is that way,” I said, pointing in the opposite direction.

He glared at me, not appreciating my attempt at humor. “Yeah, I get that.”

“Okay, I was just making sure you knew.”

“Do you have a bottle of water or something? I am dying out here.”

It was hot. In fact, I had just glanced at my temperature gauge moments before and had groaned at the 97-degree heat taunting me. I sure as hell wouldn’t want to be walking around in it anymore than the hot guy.

“I already drank out of it,” I said, holding up my water bottle.

“I don’t care. Please,” he begged.

This was not the same affable guy from earlier. There was a sense of urgency to his request, so I handed him my bottle and watched him guzzle it down in huge, dragging gulps. He handed it back to me empty.

“Sorry. I drank it all.”

It wasn’t like I was going to touch my lips to that bottle after his had been there anyway.

“That’s okay. I’ll get another one at the hotel.”

He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and flicked his wrist, sending sweat flying, thankfully not in my direction. “I’ll give you a couple dollars to buy another one.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“No. Here,” he said, pulling a few crumpled dollars from his pocket.

I held my hand up. “It’s okay.”

“Are you sure?”

I nodded.

“Okay, well, thanks for stopping. Have fun,” he said, before dropping his head in despair. I watched as the grungy drifter continued on his way.

“You seem a little…uh…upset,” I called out to him. He stopped – kicking up dirt, of course – then backtracked to my open window. His eyes narrowed in on me before he squared his shoulders.

“Do I?” he asked, with an edge to his voice. “Huh. Well, I guess it has something to do with being told that the wristband my roommate bought on Hollywood Boulevard was a fucking fake!”

“No!”

“Oh, yeah. I mean, he bought it from a scalper. Those guys are notorious scam artists. What the hell was I thinking? Of course this was going to happen. I’m such an idiot. Dammit!”

The guy wasn’t even really talking to me anymore. He was too busy berating himself. I waited for him to finish before offering up my sympathy. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

I swear he looked close to tears… or maybe it was eye sweat. Was that a thing? Poor guy. His frustration and exhaustion were plain to see, and I genuinely felt sorry for him.

“You’ve had a really bad day.”

He peered at me through the window. Suddenly a smile wiped out the aggravated expression. “I know. Fuck. Right?”

“At least you weren’t murdered by a bloody ax guy.”

“Well, there’s that,” he nodded. “Way to look on the bright side.”

“That’s my specialty,” I said, even though it was such a lie. I rarely, if ever, took the optimistic view of anything. “So what are you going to do now?”

“I was planning on finding a drainage ditch and crying myself to sleep. Why? What are you going to do today?” He grinned, some of his earlier charm returning.

“Oh, you know, I was going to watch a bunch of cool bands.”

“Oh, yeah. Huh. Great idea.”

I grinned, feeling suddenly braver than I had in years. I wanted to help him, and for the first time in a long time, I didn’t let my hang-ups hold me back.

“Get in.”

Ass-guy looked totally stunned. “That’s a nice offer, but you’re a little late. I’m already here, and now I’m heading in the other direction, so…yeah.”

“Get in,” I repeated.

“Why? I can’t go into the festival with you.”

“Who says?”

“Uh…the security people. I think they hired Seal Team Six to guard the entrance.”

“I know another way in.”

“Oh, really?” He asked, surprised and instantly curious. “Does this way involve me going to jail if it doesn’t work out?”

“Surprisingly, no.”

“Well, hot damn. That’s the best news I’ve heard all day.”

“Somehow I believe you.”

“So just exactly how are you planning to get me in?”

“The valid ticket way.”

The guy groaned, his face instantly falling as the recently departed despair returned. “You don’t think I already tried that? They’ve been sold out for months.”

I grinned with a knowledge he didn’t have. My brother was afforded certain privileges that we mere mortals could only dream of having.

“What?” he asked.

“Last chance. Get in or go find yourself a ditch.”

The guy evaluated me for a second and then reached for the back door, opened it, and shoved his stuff inside. He climbed into the passenger side, and his sweaty odor immediately permeated the car’s interior. Although I realized it was rude, his stink was rancid enough that I was forced to cover my nose with my crochet sweater.

“Sorry,” he said, and took a quick sniff. His face twisted in disgust. “Oh, damn. That’s nasty.”

I nodded my agreement. Again I imagined a team of pest control professionals fumigating my travel companion.

“Just so you know, I started my day with deodorant, but even the Old Spice guy couldn’t overcome the disaster today became.”

“You’re fine,” I said, my voice cracking.

I could feel him evaluating me for a moment.

“Okay, hold on,” he said, climbing out of the car and opening the back passenger door. My eyes followed his every move as I watched him grab some items out of his backpack. And then, before I could brace myself for impact, the mechanic pulled his shirt over his head, and instantly my stinky stranger transformed into a rippling Adonis. His upper body was long and broad, and the muscles I hadn’t given him proper credit for earlier were now glistening in sweaty, unbelievable perfection. His chest and stomach were riddled with bruises and scabbed over blemishes. They matched the faint black eye. Had he been in a bar fight or something? Surprisingly, that made him even hotter to my overly active imagination. Somehow I couldn’t imagine Dr. Schlong rearranging some guy’s face over a shot of tequila. I swallowed back my lustfulness and realized my mouth had suddenly gone bone dry. Dammit, if I hadn’t given him all my water, I’d still have some saliva left to drool.

The mechanic caught me staring, and his eyes shone in amusement, although I didn’t catch his merriment until my own eyes had completed their full rotation of his very pleasing male parts. I caught his gaze, but instead of giving in to embarrassment, I simply smiled my appreciation. He blinked his surprise at my boldness and then looked away himself. Score. Finally I was back to my old ways of making others uncomfortable. He used his old shirt to mop up the sweat before applying deodorant under each armpit and pulling a fresh t-shirt over his naked upper torso.

“Better?” he asked, arms out to the sides as he slid back into the passenger seat.

I fanned my face with my hand. “I think I might need a shower now, but yes, better. And thank you for that.”

He burst into laughter at my unexpected comment, but to his credit, he didn’t fire back with some snarky reply. I liked that. I’d grown tired of men who knew they were smoldering and wanted the world to celebrate with them. This one was a humble rarity among hot guys: he let his sizzle speak for itself.

“I have something else you might like,” he replied, lifting his leg and revealing a nearly erased grease stain.

“How?” I asked in astonishment. He was just one surprise after another. If my lava hadn’t been boiling before, it was now sending bursts of liquid fire though every nerve ending in my body. Speechless, I could only mutter, “Where? When?”

“I swiped a salt shaker and spoon from the diner and worked it out on the ride over. Just for you.”

It was those last three words that spoke to me and shook loose the first jagged pieces of steel from my hardened heart. This was no ordinary guy. It wasn’t just his dedication to my happiness that had me, it was the fact that he’d cared enough in the first place to remove a grease stain from his jeans for a woman he hadn’t expected to ever see again. There was something so endearing about that. My swoony eyes settled onto his beauty. Wow. Just frickin’ wow.

He hadn’t caught on to my middle school girl worship because his attention was elsewhere – namely, my vents. Leaning into them, he smiled as the cold breeze hit his reddened face. “So just exactly how do you plan on sneaking me into a sold out festival?”

“I have connections.”

“Really?” He sat up straighter, his affecting eyes shining with interest. “Like what kind of connections?”

“Like the kind of connections where I know people who can possibly get you in.”

His brows arched, intrigue highlighting his handsome face. “Who do you know?” he whispered, conspiratorially.

I put my hand up. “Do you want me to work my magic or not?”

He grinned. “Work it!”

I couldn’t help the smile that formed on my face as I picked up my phone and texted Jake.

I could feel my passenger still watching me. After a few seconds, he seemed to give up trying to figure me out, and instead, settled back into his seat. “Hey, do you mind if I turn up your air conditioner?”

“Be my guest.”

He rotated the knob to the highest setting until it was blasting out of the vents. My hair was blowing all over the place, so I aimed the slats in his direction.

“This is the best thing I’ve ever felt in all my life!” he exclaimed. Then he stopped himself and smirked, “Well, maybe not the best… but it’s right up there.”

“I don’t doubt it.” I smiled back. “I’m just going to get back in the line of cars. Hopefully I’ll hear back before we get to the front.”

The mechanic nodded as he went for my radio, changing the station until he found something acceptable. Wow, he was certainly making himself comfortable. More surprising was that he wasn’t making me uncomfortable.

“I just realized that I don’t know your name,” I said.

“So much for being cautious. I’m Finn.”

Finn? Huh. Not what I was expecting, but I liked it. Somehow it suited him perfectly. “I’m Emma.”

“Nice to meet ya, Emma.” Finn’s eyes flickered over me in curiosity before the air conditioning stole his concentration once more and he focused on finding the exact angle of the vent that produced the most intense blast of air. Once his baseball cap was nearly dislodged from his head from the sheer force of the wind, Finn sat back and resumed staring at me.

After a moment of silence, he raised his hand. “I have a question.”

“Yes, Finn?” I pointed at him.

“If you can’t get me into the festival, can I just sit in your air-conditioned car all weekend?”

“We’ll see.”

He nodded, smiling. “Okay, I’ve got one more question. Are you an actress?”

“No,” I said, laughing.

“You’re sure?”

“I think I would know.”

“Okay. A model, then?”

I was really starting to like this guy. “You think I look like a model?”

Finn’s eyes bugged out, much as mine had during his striptease, and settled on my braless profile. The dress Casey had picked clung to my curves but left no room for support, so I’d been forced to free-boob it. Basically I was rocking some serious side cleavage, and it hadn’t escaped his attention.

“Um…” he gulped.

That was it. His response was nothing more than a grunt, but I was intensely flattered nonetheless.

My phone buzzed. “Tell me if the car in front gets too close. I have to check my messages.”

Finn sat up, taking his job seriously so I could read the text.

Finn? Well, crap. I had no idea.

“What’s your last name?”

“Perry.”

I typed in his full name and sent it off. Finn followed my every move.

“Keep watching,” I demanded to my travel companion.

“Oh, yeah, sorry. We’ve only moved a car length. Are you seriously getting me a ticket?”

Another text came in from Jake. I put my hand up to stop the conversation.

I grinned. If he only knew!

After checking the road, I focused my attention back on Finn. “This is your lucky day after all,” I said, grinning. It felt good to do something nice for him. After the day he’d had, he deserved it.

“You’re kidding, right?”

I shook my head, biting my lower lip in excitement for him.

“No, you didn’t.” He smiled back as if he thought I was joking.

“I told you I had connections.”

“I know, but…” His mouth hanging open, Finn appeared genuinely gobsmacked. “You’re not messing with me, right?”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because I’ve had a pretty crappy day today, so it’s not too far fetched for me to believe that this is all an elaborate hoax.”

“It hasn’t been all bad. You’re practically dating my air conditioner now.”

“That’s true. It hasn’t been all bad,” he said with a charming little smile. “I got to meet a gorgeous model-actress.”

I laughed. “No and no.”

“So what do I owe you?”

“Nothing. It was free.”

“I don’t want you paying for me. I can get you the money.”

“I didn’t pay anything for it. It was an extra ticket.”

“An extra ticket?” Finn shook his head. “There aren’t any extra tickets.”

“There are if you know who to ask.”

His eyes locked on mine, and I felt that incredible attachment towards him once again. What the hell was it about him? “Well, are you sure you want to give it to me? You don’t even know me.”

“Oh, my god, Finn! Would you prefer I give the ticket to some other smelly homeless guy?”

“No!” he laughed.

“Do you want it or not?”

“Hell, yeah, I want it!”