Page 9 of Diesel

Now I was imagining I was the engine and Diesel was moving that way over my naked body.

“See something you like?” Greta’s voice was right next to my ear, making me jump about a foot in the air.

“Jesus, Miss Greta.” I wiped my mouth, making sure I hadn’t drooled.

“Just asking.” She grinned, completely unrepentant. “Because from where I’m standing, you’re looking at that man like he’s a ribeye and you haven’t eaten in a week.”

Try six months.

“I’m not—that’s not—I’m just making sure he knows what he’s doing.”

“Uh-huh.” She patted my arm. “Sure you are, honey.”

Diesel straightened, wiping his hands on a rag he’d pulled from his pocket. “Alternator’s shot. Belt’s shredded too. I’m surprised you made it this far.”

“Can you fix it?” I stared hopefully at him, and not just for repairs.

“Here? I can get you running. But you’re gonna need a full repair. New alternator, new belt, probably some other work while we’re in there.” He looked at me, and there was something in his expression I couldn’t quite read. “How far are you going?”

“About three miles. We were heading to the senior center.”

Diesel gave a single, sexy nod. “I can get you running. Temporary fix. I wouldn’t suggest joyriding. Keep your destinations short.” He walked to his tow truck. I followed. “Bring it to the repair shop first thing in the morning.” After reaching inside the truck, he scribbled something on the back of a business card, then handed it to me. “Here’s my cell number in case you break back down before morning.”

“I’ll find a coupon!” Edith shouted from her position by the shuttle.

Diesel frowned. “A coupon?”

“She has coupons for everything,” I explained. “It’s a whole thing. Just smile and nod.”

“Got it.” He turned back to the engine, pulling tools from his belt, and I stood there and watched, admiring every single inch of the view.

* * * *

It was too early, but Maureen had insisted on getting repairs started as soon as possible. Deluca’s Auto Repair sat back from the road like it was giving everyone space to mind their own business.

An L-shaped concrete building, grey and solid, with barbed wire fencing that said the place took security seriously. At least a dozen motorcycles lined up along the fence, chrome catching the morning sun. Customer vehicles occupied the right side of the lot, while three bay doors dominated the left. The business name stretched above the middle bay door in bold letters.

The place looked well-maintained, which was either reassuring or meant they charged enough to keep things nice.

I pulled the shuttle into the lot, the engine making that bolt-gargling noise again. The temporary fix had gotten me through yesterday’s routes, but Maureen had been adamant about getting this handled before the shuttle decided to die permanently, preferably not while full of seniors.

The middle bay door was open. I eased the shuttle forward, and that was when I saw him.

Diesel stood under the overhead door, wiping his hands on a rag. Same gorgeous eyes, same impossible shoulders, same everything that had short-circuited my brain yesterday.

Through some window inside the shop, sunlight hit him from behind, outlining his frame like the universe was trying to make a point about how completely out of my league this man was.

My hands tightened on the steering wheel. Yesterday had been chaotic enough that I could blame my reaction on stress. Today I had no such excuse.

Diesel gestured for me to pull in. The bay swallowed the shuttle, lights buzzing overhead. I killed the engine and climbed out, very aware of how small the space felt with both of us in it.

“Morning,” he said in that deep voice, tucking the rag back into his belt.

“Morning.” I managed to sound almost normal. “Thanks for squeezing me in.”

“No problem.” He walked around the shuttle, those blue eyes assessing it the way a doctor might examine a patient. “You make it to the center yesterday?”

“Thing sputtered the whole way, but we made it.”