Chapter 2 - Malia (1)

It's been a couple of weeks since my mom's brain surgery and that dreaded phone call I've had with my estranged father. I hate that I have no other choice. She's the only one I have left. I would do anything for my mother—even if I have to lie to her as to where I got the money to pay for the surgery. She can never know the money came from him.

I check all my stuff in my purse as I get in the beat-up light blue Volkswagen Beetle that's a decade older than me. It's my mom's car, given to her by a friend many years ago. The door creaks as I slowly close it. I'm afraid that it will fall apart if I slam it a little too hard.

It takes a few tries before it comes to life, but when it does, I smile and pat the dashboard. "Good job, Bee. Now, let's get there safely, okay?"

Heather thinks I'm nuts for naming this car and talking to an inanimate object, but Bee has been with us since I was four years old. He's like a brother to me.

According to the map on my phone, my destination should be about fifteen minutes by car. Thank God, because I'm going to be late for my interview if I don't leave now.

Ten minutes into the drive, Bee starts to sputter.

"Oh, no no no… Not today. Don't you dare give up on me, Bee. We're almost there!"

The car coughs and then jerks. And then I smell something bad from somewhere—like the fumes coming out from the exhaust smell like gas.

My heart thunders in my chest. Do I risk it? Force to finish the last five minutes of the drive and worry about it later?

When I look up, I see an auto shop a few meters away as if the heavens are giving me a sign. "Damn it." Sighing, I head over there, hoping the car doesn't blow up before I get there.

There doesn't seem to be anyone around, though I hear some rock music coming from inside. A black Land Rover that looks so expensive it must cost three to four times my annual salary—possibly more, is parked outside the shop but no one seems to be inside. I drive into the garage carefully as I look around, hoping to see a mechanic.

Several cars sit in their bays, most of them taken apart, and one in the far corner is covered. Still, I see no one. I check my watch and feel dejected that in two minutes, I will miss my chance.

Turning the engine off, I get out and scan the shop as I walk deeper inside. "Hello?"

I spot something moving further down the bays and when I get closer, I see someone's body. Not just A body. The one I'm drooling at is a mass of lean muscle. Hard rock abs and arms decorated with intricate tattoos. The owner of said glorious, sweaty body is under a black Chevrolet—one like Dean Winchester's.

My lips part as I close the distance, seeing his muscles flex when his arms move here and there. The lower part of his body strangely doesn't fit the surroundings. We're in a garage and he's lying next to a grease stain on the floor, wearing what I assume are expensive slacks and a pair of polished leather shoes. Is this shop that expensive their mechanics wear slacks to work?

He coughs and the muscles flex on his tasty abs. Damn those buns. Seriously! Even Bryce doesn't have an abdomen as defined as that and he's an athlete.

My gaze travels up the planes of his torso, his hard pecs glistening with sweat. I gulp. I shouldn't be looking at another man's body. What the hell am I doing?

Just before I look away, my eyes flit upward slightly and meet a pair of piercing eyes with a knowing gaze. I nearly jump back from the shock. Oh, my god. He just saw me check him out!

He smirks as he pushes himself out from underneath the car. I blink and mentally shake my head as I walk over to him, acting like I didn't just lust over a stranger. Get a grip, Malia!

"Hi, I'm looking for a mechanic to check my car." I hike a thumb over my shoulder, watching him as he stands to his full height. He's so tall, I'm certain he's well over six feet; I have to crane my neck to look at his face.

He's got a prominent jawline, sharp nose, full lips, sea green eyes that look almost blue but pale, and he's clean-shaven, though he looks rough with sweat dripping from his temples. I feel like I've just stepped into a different dimension being in the same room as this man before me. He makes me feel nervous.

I suddenly feel self-conscious; I run my palms down my skirt. His eyes drop, following my movement and I shift my weight.

I don't know if I'm imagining it but I think the corner of his lips move slightly as if he's amused about something. He grabs a rag from the hood of the car and wipes the grease on his hands with it while he casts a glance over my shoulder to where my car is.

"No one's here. There was an emergency. The owner was rushed to the hospital," he says in a velvety voice dripping with masculinity, I feel it down my spine.

Then I process what he just said and my brows draw together. "No one? What about you?"

He cocks a brow. "Do I look like I work here?"

As soon as he asks that, my gaze goes to his abs–for what reason, I don't know. It was instinct. It's only for a quick second but when I look at his face again, he's smiling. I avert my stare to the wall. "Sorry. I just thought… Well, you were working under that car."

Naked Man tosses the rag into a toolbox and starts walking toward me. "That's alright. I know the owner, I'm just using his shop to work on my car. I can check on your car if you want."

I look at him with renewed hope. "You don't mind? I would appreciate it."