You know that moment in the movie Sandlot when Squints sees the lifeguard, Wendy Peffercorn, walking on the sidewalk? He quickly cleans his Coke-bottle glasses with his shirt, romantic music swells, and the video shifts to slow motion of the curvy blonde?
Well, for the next week at Tire Depot, I’m the creeper, Squints, and Miles is Wendy frickin’ Peffercorn.
The first day I came back to write after Miles and I had pizza together, I ended up stopping at the open garage door in the back alley. I had a perfect view of Miles hard at work, and I just stood there, laptop bag on my shoulder, jaw dropped, heart racing.
He was stacking a bunch of tires. So many tires. They must have just gotten a shipment in or something because he was sweating profusely. At one point, he stopped what he was doing, unzipped his charcoal coveralls and pulled them off his shoulders to cool down. He was wearing another one of those hot, tight athletic tanks. Nike brand. Black. But I could tell it was soaked through with sweat. His arms were glistening in the light as he wiped his brow on his grease-covered forearm. He grabbed a bottle of water, took several long drinks, his thick neck contracting with each swallow, and proceeded to pour the remaining contents down his face.
You just can’t make this shit up!
The next moment, he turns to look over his shoulder at a co-worker, and his blue eyes were glowing so brightly against his tan complexion that he didn’t seem real. I seriously felt my knees wobble and it wasn’t because I skipped lunch that day.
Suddenly, the billionaire I was writing about in my novel seemed all wrong. His six-pack too artificial. Sex appeal wasn’t created in a gym with weights and treadmills. No, it was born in powerful, grungy garages where men, real fucking men worked with their hands. Where they got so dirty, they had to use a special manly soap to clean themselves up. You can’t find that shit at Bath & Body. Pure fucking testosterone.
Feeling inspired like never before, I scurry off to the comfort center to take two pages’ worth of notes for a new series. Jesus Christ, why had I never considered a mechanic before? My readers would salivate all over this! I can’t help myself as I begin writing the first chapter, the voices of the characters so clear, I have to get them out. Right fucking now.
It’s hours later when I’m ripped from my fictional world by a strong, overwhelming presence in the room. I look up from my laptop to find Miles watching me from the doorway, his mouth tipped into a lazy smile. His eyes are smoldering with something I’ve never seen before.
I pop out my earbuds out when he walks over to me. “You look hyper-focused,” he drawls as he drops down on the leather chair next to me.
My eyes fly wide as I quickly take my pen out of my hair and nervously mess with my top knot. “Yeah…I, erm…got a new book idea today.”
“Oh, really?” he asks, running his hands down his denim-clad thighs. The smell of his manly soap invades my nostrils. He’s showered. The sweat and dirt that were all over him hours ago are long gone, and he smells like a fucking mountain after a fresh rain.
“Do they have showers here?” I ask curiously, so I can make a mental note for my work in progress.
He laughs at that peculiar question. “Yes, why?”
My cheeks flame red. “You smell nice and fresh. Your hair is even still damp, right?” I reach out and comb my fingers through his short, black strands, moisture coating all five of my digits. My insides squeeze at the intimacy behind this embrace.
His eyes flutter closed like he’s enjoying my caress as much as I am, so I take the opportunity to continue my path from the top of his head down to the base of his taut, strong neck. Jesus, this guy is all man.
I suddenly realize we’re not alone and quickly force myself to stop petting the hot mechanic.
Miles’s blue eyes flutter open. “Does that mean you abandoned your other story idea?”
I laugh at that notion. “Lord, no. I just have to write stuff when it comes to me, or it’s gone forever. These are only notes and the first chapter, so I can dive in easier when I come back to it. I’m still very much working on my original story.”
“Well, I’m glad the comfort center is still giving you good vibes.” He looks down at my computer. “Are you almost done for the day?”
I bite my lip. “Maybe?”
“Do you want to go grab something to eat?”
“Like a date?” I ask because Jesus, I have a big mouth and no filter, and I can’t help myself.
His brow furrows. “Nah, just food.” He shrugs.
“I like food,” I reply, trying not to take his reply as a complete rejection as I begin closing my laptop.
Suddenly, reality crashes in on me. “Shoot, I’m sorry…I actually can’t. I promised my girlfriend I’d go for a walk with her like…” I quickly look at my phone for the time. “Now. Shit, I need to go.”
He nods and smiles, looking slightly disappointed. “I understand.”
“Rain check?” I ask, and begin packing up my gear.
“Definitely.” And with that, he gives me a friendly wave goodbye and exits the room like the stunning fucking stallion he is.