Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 81255 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81255 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
“No,” I reply distractedly, watching the muscles of his arms flex as he takes a long thingy and starts unscrewing the bolts from the tire.
“What was your plan then?” He pauses, looking up at me, and my eyes move to his.
“What?”
“If you got the tire out of the trunk, what was your plan?”
“I was going to wing it,” I tell him truthfully, and his eyes close briefly as his head shakes side-to-side.
“Come over here.”
“Why?”
“I’m gonna teach you how to change your tire.”
“Oh.” I take a step toward him. Apparently not close enough, his big hand wraps around mine, and he tugs, forcing my feet to move until I’m practically standing between his bent knees.
“Now, you always want to loosen the bolts before you get the car off the ground, it makes it easier to remove them once the car’s in the air.”
“Okay.” I nod, and he smiles again, making me feel like a giddy schoolgirl. This is getting ridiculous. I have never been affected by anyone the way he’s affecting me.
“All right. I’m going to loosen the bolts then we’re gonna raise the car. Got it?” Nodding, I watch the muscles in his arms flex as he loosens each of the bolts. “Then you use this to pump the jack.” He takes the long thingy in his hand that he loosened the bolts with and uses the flat end of it, sticking it into the jack that he starts pumping. “Once you get the tire off the ground about two inches, you stop.”
“Okay,” I agree, watching him pull the long thing back out of the jack once the tire is off the ground.
“After you get the bolts loosened and the car in the air, you remove the bolts completely,” he says as he starts to remove them.
“Can I try?”
“Absolutely.” He lets go of the handle, and I take over and try with all my might to turn the bolt, but nothing happens. “Let me help.” He gets close, too close, placing his hand next to mine on the handle. “Push on three.”
“Okay.” I bite my lip when his body cocoons mine, and his scent of dark, warm amber seeps into my senses.
“One… two… three.” I push with him, and the bolt spins. “Good job. If you’re having problems getting them loose, you can always stomp it.”
“Stomp it?” I turn my head to look at him, and he grins.
“Step on it. Use your body weight to force it to move.”
“Oh, got it.” I nod and move away from him to get the next bolt off without help, but the last one isn’t as easy. I start to do what he suggested, but he stops me with his hand wrapped around my bicep.
“You have heels on.” His eyes drop to my three inch wedged espadrilles. “And I’m here, so you don’t need to break your neck.” He leans over, and with one flex of his muscles, the bolt spins. Pulling off the tire, he grabs the spare and puts it on then sets all the bolts. “This time, we do the opposite. Tighten them as much as we can then drop the jack and tighten them up the rest of the way,” he explains, and I spend the next five minutes watching him tighten all the bolts then drop the jack, allowing the car to lower to the ground before tightening the bolts the rest of the way.
Stepping back when he stands, I notice a thin coating of sweat covering him. The sun has hit its peak, and it’s about twenty degrees hotter out than it was this morning when I left my apartment. Lifting the bottom of his shirt, he wipes his face, giving me a glimpse of his abs. That’s when I notice the dirt and grime from his hands has transferred to his shirt, a shirt I know by the tiny U on the pocket would probably cost eighty dollars, if not more. “Oh, no.”
His eyes drop to where mine are looking. “What?”
“Your shirt, it’s ruined,” I point out, and he shrugs.
“It’s all good. Where are you heading?”
“Just about fifteen minutes down the road into town. I think there’s a mechanic there that’s not far from my place.”
“All right. I’ll follow you in.” He picks up the jack in one hand and the tire with the other, like it weighs nothing at all, and carries them back toward my trunk. I stare after him, wondering what I should do.
“That’s not necessary.” I follow after him. “I’m sure you have things to do,” I say as I open my door and reach in to grab a twenty from my bag sitting on the passenger seat. Slamming the door, I go to where he’s bent over the trunk. As soon as he stands, I hold out the bill toward him. “Thank you so much. I don’t know what I would have done if you didn’t stop.”