I’m outside by the bonfire, curled up in a canvas chair with my feet tucked under me. After giving me a good ribbing about Mark, laced with earnest advice on how to be ladylike and not loud, gross and smelly like I usually am, Amanda and Brenda went into the house to get ready for bed, leaving me to sit out here by myself and wait to see if Mark really is coming in to talk to me.

Shit! This is so nerve-wracking! I know I have a rep as a ballsy chick and all, but the truth is, I’m not especially experienced ––or confident––with dating.

It’s not just because of my dad or my brothers, either.

It’s because of me, too.

Even though, most days, I’m horny as hell… I’m also picky as hell.

And shy, although I do my best to hide that, believe me.

Furthermore, I’m not attracted to skinny, passive men. It’s not that I want some super-hot Bad Boy necessarily. I’ve seen plenty of friends get burned by a good-looking but spoiled man-child, too full of himself to care about anyone else.

I want a guy who takes care of himself, but who isn’t afraid to get dirty. Maybe the men in my family drive me nuts sometimes but, for good or ill, they formulated my idea of what a man should be. And so I want a guy who at least likes cars and knows something about them. I mean, he’d have to, just to hold his own with my family!

Of course I’ve met quite a few men like that through my dad’s business, but no one special…no one that makes me wonder, for example, what getting close to them would be like.

What getting naked with them would be like.

Until now.

Because, boy…I am definitely thinking some naked thoughts about Mark.

Earlier, when we first met, I was mesmerized to look into those sky-blue eyes of his, up close and personal. They’re such a nice color, blue like Rob’s, but a darker shade, from what I could tell.

And what a body he has! Nice big chest, well-developed and strong arms.

I wonder if his legs are nice too…probably they are. Why wouldn’t they be?

Staring into the lowering flames of the bonfire, what I see in my mind’s eye makes me squirm in my seat: Those blue eyes looking up at me from between my legs…that sensuous mouth fastened on my….

“Boo,” comes a soft voice from just behind me.

“Ahh!” I let out a small shriek, my hand going to my chest. I look behind me and there he is, grinning a mile wide and larger than life.

“Heh! Did I startle you? Sorry.” He sits in a chair opposite mine, now offering me a rather sweet smile.

“It’s okay. I was just…um, thinking…thoughts,” I say, lamely. “I didn’t hear you come out of the house.”

“I didn’t come out of the house. I came around the side.”

“Oh. Sneaky.” I smile, my heart hammering away. “Did you want a coffee?”

“No, thanks.” He holds up a bottle of water. “I came purely to talk to you. It’s not too often I meet a girl who drives a car like yours. Or, who looks like you, frankly.” He pulls the chair closer and looks at me with tired but gleaming eyes.

“Oh. Th-thank you.” Feeling my face redden, I shift nervously in my seat, my earlier bravado all but evaporated in a spasm of shyness.

His grin widens. Great, he knows the effect he’s having me. I take a deep breath and try to get myself together.

“You’re welcome. So, how was dinner?”

“Awesome! How was yours?”

“The same. Mom makes a mean roast beef.” He takes a swig of water and smiles.

“I bet! Brenda fixed us your mother’s special potato dish tonight. The one that you make with onion soup mix. God! So yummy! We fought for the crusty bits left over in the pan.”

He laughs. “I know the dish! It is good, isn’t it? My brother and I had the same fight many times when we were growing up.”

“Your mom sure knows a thing or two about spuds. Heh.”

A few seconds of silence goes by. Mark takes another drink of water, looking at me boldly, a smile playing around his mouth.

I smile back.

“So, Brenda tells me that you just got a shop opened. Congratulations.”

“Thanks. And Rob told me that you’re a Sinclair, of the famous auto supply family. I met your brother Hamish when he came to set me up for an account.”

“Oh? Yeah…Hamish is…Hamish is um, cool,” I say, cringing inwardly at how lame I sound. “He’s a mechanic as well…I mean, all my brothers are…but Hamish mostly just takes care of accounts these days”

“I haven’t met any of your other brothers yet.”

“No? Well, um… Callum…that’s my oldest brother…he…he takes care of the marketing and customer satisfaction and that kind of thing.”

Mark nods. “How many brothers do you have, exactly?”

“Five. Callum’s the oldest, then it’s Hamish, then Bryce. Bryce lives in California now. Then…then comes Gavin, who works the stores mostly and then Tommy…that’s my twin…Tommy’s strictly a high-performance mechanic. He’s like, a savant with motors! He does all the customizations and restorations on the classic cars. Plus, maintenance and repairs for the honchos.” I hear myself babbling but I can’t seem to help it.

“Honchos?”

“Rich clients with expensive vehicles.”

He nods thoughtfully. “And you all work for your father?”

“Yes, all except Bryce.” I keep my voice casual. “He’s an excellent mechanic as well, but ended up moving to California to pursue a career in music.”

“Ah. You said your dad and your brothers helped you restore your Firebird. You must know a thing or two about motors yourself?

“I’ve picked up a lot from them, for sure. The truth is, though, that they restored it and I helped them…not the other way around.” I give him a sheepish look. “I’m not as interested in what’s under the hood as I am in just… driving. I love to drive. Love, love, love it. I mean, I know that it’s what’s under the hood that makes or breaks the driving experience. But I have no desire to change out an engine just for shits and giggles.”

Mark’s nodding and watching my face as I rattle on, that smile drifting into view from time to time.

His demeanor is so laid-back and relaxed, I can’t help relaxing as well.

“So, what kind of work do you do at Sinclair?”

“Administrative. Business and computer stuff, accounting and inventory control systems, that kind of thing. It’s part time when I’m at school. Right now, I’m working full time for the summer.”

“What are you taking at school?”

“I have one year left on my degree in Business Management.”

“Cool. And, um, mind if I ask, how old are you exactly?”

“Twenty-one. I’ll be twenty-two in September. How old are you?”

“Thirty-five. Compared to you, I’m practically a senior.”

“True,” I say, grinning. “You seem well-preserved for your age though.”

“Gee, thanks.”

We grin at each other for a moment.

“So, you gonna work for the family business full-time when you’re done school?”

“I…don’t know. I don’t think so, actually. I think I’ll probably get a job somewhere else. Just to…find my own way. So to speak.”

He’s nodding. “Out from under the shadow of the family?”

“Well…yes. Don’t get me wrong…they’ve given me opportunities that I’d never have, otherwise.” I pause to scratch my leg. “Funny. I was just talking to Brenda about this.”

He tilts his head, encouraging me to go on.

“I was telling her that I do feel over-protected sometimes. I’m the only girl, and the baby of the family. Well, me and my twin are the babies of the family.”

“I know how that is, kind of. I’m the baby of the family, too. Rob still feels responsible for me and it comes out in a controlling way. And if you do something stupid, heaven help ya!”

“I know, it’s awful! And, really bad if you knew darn well you shouldn’t have done the stupid thing in the first place,” I chuckle.

“True. Although, I bet my stupid things were probably…stupider… than your stupid things.” He looks skyward, narrowing his eyes comically, as if he’s replaying his own words to see if they made any sense.

I giggle.

“You first,” he says. “Tell me a stupid thing you did.”

“What? Whoa now, I don’t think so. You go first.” I put my chin to my shoulder and give him a look, as if to say, you got some nerve.

He lets out a guffaw, eyes crinkling and flashing a toothy smile. “You look cute when you do that,” he says, sitting forward and pulling his chair closer still. “Okay, I’ll give you a driving one.” He takes a swig from his water bottle, re-caps it and then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Right after I got my license, my dad gave me the keys to his car for the night. His beater car, not his good ride.”

He plucks a blade of grass from the lawn and stretches it between his fingers. “I let one of my friends talk me into racing it. Middle of the night, on one of the back roads outside of town. So, we make a big deal out of setting up a starting line and getting a guy to stand to the side with a t-shirt to use as a flag…y’know, the whole thing. Finally, we’re ready. We wait for the count, revving our engines, the flag goes down…and….I put the pedal to the metal!” He sticks his arms straight out, holds an imaginary steering wheel, and stiffens his right leg like it’s pressing the gas pedal. “But the car only squealed along for maybe thirty feet before I lost control and ditched it. Hah! The whole thing took less than ten seconds.”

“Oooh, shit,” I say, squinting sympathetically.

“Yeah. Trying to race an old, piece-of-shit Lincoln Towncar! Jesus. Anyway, we couldn’t get it out of the ditch. My brother, who was living in DC by then, happened to be in town visiting. So I called him instead of my dad. Rob brought a friend who had a truck with a winch, and they pulled it out. Thank God I never got going fast enough to do any damage!”

“Did your brother give you hell about it?”

“Oh, yeah. But he didn’t rat me out to my dad, so it was all good in the end.”

His voice and expression are so sheepish, I have to laugh. He laughs along with me but he actually looks a bit embarrassed!

My God! He’s ridiculously sweet. A warm and comfy feeling towards him grows in my chest.

“Alright, that’s a good one. I’ll give you a similar one.” My legs are falling asleep, so I uncurl them and stretch them out in front of me. “Back in the day, my brother Hamish built a couple dune buggies for us younger kids to fool around with. He…well, all my brothers had use of my dad’s garage and tools at my parents’ place. They own a farm property with a barn and a big garage as well as the house in town here. We all spent a lot of our time there. So anyway, when I was about twelve, I…um, I stole one of the buggies and took Jennifer for a joy ride.”

I purse my lips and look at him from under my eyelashes.

“Tsk tsk,” he says, solemnly. But his eyes are sparkling.

“See, Hamish taught me and Tommy to drive when we were about ten. We were only allowed to drive on the property, mind you, but it made me quite confident behind the wheel. I merely…lacked permission, that one time.” I give him a guilty look, to which he responds with a chuckle. “Jennifer and I both knew how much trouble we’d be in if we got caught. She said she didn’t know what’d be worse, dying in a crash or getting in shit with my dad! Hah!”

“So what happened? What’d your dad do to you?”

“Nothing. I didn’t get caught. Because, I was a good driver and didn’t ditch it in ten seconds,” I tease, giving him a big, cheesy smile.

He sits back, raises his brows and grins. “Ohhhh, zing! You’re two-for-two so far.” His warm eyes reflect the liquid orange glow from the fire.

“Just sayin’,” I giggle. “But rest assured, my luck ran out. I tried it again the next week and encountered my father just as I was driving it out of the garage. I didn’t know he’d come home from work early that day. So…yeah. Grounded for the summer…don’t say a word or it’ll go worse for ya.”

“Ouch. You deserved it, naughty girl. Stealing your brother’s buggy, tsk tsk.” With his long legs stretched out in front of him, he reaches over with his foot and gives my ankle a gentle, affectionate nudge with the toe of his shoe.

As he does it, the way he looks into my eyes makes a shiver go straight through my being.

We talk for a while about how much we both love driving. Turns out, Mark’s first attempt to race his dad’s beater was only the beginning of his own love affair with speed. Like many boys in rural areas––and some girls like myself, too––as soon as he could drive, he indulged in racing on the dirt roads outside of town.

And, like many rural kids, he had an assortment of mopeds, ATVs, dirt bikes and other motor vehicles, and grew up riding those around the countryside, building make-shift tracks in farmer’s fields and rural properties, raising hell and having fun with his friends.

From what he’s saying, it’s becoming apparent that Mark is a pretty skilled driver himself.

“So…” he says, leaning back with a sigh. Again, he moves his foot closer to mine, leaving it so close it’s almost touching. “You still taking the buggies for a spin these days?”

“No,” I reply, moving my own foot so that it’s resting against his denim-clad ankle. I look into his sparkling eyes. “Hamish sold them years ago. I miss them though. Even though they were nothing but two seats and four wheels in a frame, we had so much fun with those things!”

I press my foot more firmly against his leg, wanting to keep the contact going.

For a moment, we just regard each other, blinking solemnly.

“You know what?” he says, quietly.

“What?” I say, matching his tone.

“I’m sure glad Brenda had a girl’s night tonight so I could meet you.”

“Me, too.”

A lull follows, the silence comfortable yet full of anticipation.

I ask him how the Star Wars movie was, and he falls into an excited, animated description of the movie, telling me about the characters and where it fits into the Star Wars franchise. Hot, sweet and geeky. Shit, man. I could really fall for this guy.

“But I won’t tell you how it ends,” he says. “I don’t want to spoil it for you. And maybe…maybe we can watch it together sometime.”

“I’d love that.”

We grin at each other, then we fall into another comfortable silence, watching the fire getting lower and just feeling each other’s presence.

The neighborhood is growing more tranquil. Most everyone is gone to sleep now. There’s only the sound of flames crackling in the little fire, crickets, and occasional car sounds or a dog barking in the distance.

I let out a huge yawn. He looks over at me.

“Yeah, I guess it’s time to call it a night,” he says. “Hey, before I go, you wanna help me with something?”

“Um, okay? What?”

He stands up. “Come to the garage with me.”

In Rob’s garage, Mark flicks on a strong overhead light. “Obviously, it’s too late to start it up right now,” he says, pulling a lawn mower under the light. “But earlier, Rob showed me how it’s stalling out after running for a few minutes. You wanna help me check it out?”

“Sure,” I say. “Did it start okay?”

“No. Needs a few pulls, then it runs rough.”

“Hmm. Maybe it’s water in the gas line, or… bad gas mixture, or bad spark plug.”

“Heh. My thoughts as well.” He pulls a small socket wrench out of his pocket and hands it to me, then stands back, making it obvious that he wants to see if I know what to do with it.

“Oh, testing the chick with the muscle car to see if she can take a spark plug out, huh?”

He smiles.

Smiling myself, I use the tool to remove the spark plug, which I hold up to the light.

“Look at that electrode,” I say. “Bad gas mixture.”

Mark’s eyes are alight.

“I concur with your diagnosis, Ms. Sinclair.” He reaches for the plug. I hold it out to him, but instead of taking it, he delicately wraps his hand around mine and caresses my thumb with his own.

Electricity races through me, stopping my breath and making my heart leap like a gazelle.

Our eyes meet over our clasped hands. He squeezes my fingers ever so gently and then takes the spark plug from my hand.

Speaking quietly, he says, “I have to go. Tomorrow’s a regular work day for me and I need to get some sleep.”

“Yes, okay. I…it was very nice meeting you. And talking to you. Have a good night,” I say, my pounding heart making it hard to speak.

I step back and half-turn towards the door.

“Marie?” A grin plays across his lips and those blue eyes gleam with mirth. “Um, if I promise to never spam you, can I get your phone number before you go?”