mad as hell at her, because that was Joey grinning at her through the driver’s side window.
“Are we playing role reversal? Usually, I’m the one on the side of the highway.”
The words stuck in her throat. Exercise would be good for her. Lord knew, her butt wasn’t getting any smaller.
“Problem?” Joey prompted.
She sighed. “Yeah.”
He didn’t make her beg, though, so apparently he really didn’t hold a grudge about all those speeding tickets. Or the arrest. He threw the truck into park and killed the engine before hopping out and coming around. She, on the other hand, was still standing there, hands curled around the edge of the engine compartment. Blinking at him like an idiot.
He nudged her out of the way. Long legs encased in worn denim with some very yummy white stress points ended in the usual pair of motorcycle boots. He wore a fire department T-shirt beneath an open flannel shirt. She awarded him bonus points for radiating heat. Standing out here in the night air, poking at her engine, had been chillier than she expected.
He looked underneath the hood, and she looked at his ridiculously long lashes. Life just wasn’t fair. “Tell me all about your problems. The doctor’s in.”
She wasn’t really going to turn down a free mechanic, not when she was stuck out here in the middle of nowhere. “One minute I was driving along and the next, the motor died. I coasted a few hundred yards, and now here I am.”
He nodded. “Have you had car problems before?”
“It’s a fifteen-year-old import with two hundred thousand miles. What hasn’t broken?”
“True.” He stuck his head under the hood and started fiddling with various bits. He hummed as he worked, looking perfectly happy parked by the side of the road, fixing her car. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that, but apparently she’d hit on one thing that made him slow down. Sitting around and twiddling her thumbs didn’t appeal, so she moved closer so she could see what he was doing.
The lack of room beneath the hood meant she ended up pressed against him. She bumped him with her hip.
“Move over.” Her car, her engine.
He raised his gaze to hers, treating her to another look at his sinful eyelashes. “I’m working here.”
“Doing what?”
“Checking your fuel filter and then the pump to see if either is clogged.”
She had no idea what he’d just said, but she’d learn. “Give it to me in steps.”
He adjusted something gadget-y. “I can’t just fix it?”
“I need to know how to do this myself,” she said. “Otherwise, what happens the next time my car breaks down?”
He frowned. “Maybe you should buy a new car.”
“Do you have any idea what they pay deputy sheriffs in these parts?”
He considered her words for a moment. “Good point. Maybe you should come work for me at the garage. I’ll pay you a living wage.”
She gave him another look, and he launched into a complicated explanation of how to check a fuel line. She had to give him credit. He actually seemed like he was trying to explain what he was doing, but her fingers itched for a pen to write it all down. Writing helped her make sense of things, and she didn’t think she could wallpaper her fuel line with colored Post-it notes corresponding to the different steps in Joey’s long-winded process.
In the middle of his explanation, Bob meowed demandingly from the car. Her Siamese was done with the sitting-around-and-waiting portion of the night’s events. She’d been feeling the same way until she cozied up underneath the hood of her car with Joey.
Joey wiped his hands on a bandana he’d produced from somewhere and offered it to her. Her car might not produce much speed, but it apparently was an overachiever when it came to engine grease. “You’ve got company. You going to introduce me?”
She straightened. God, her back was killing her. “Meet Bob.”
He grabbed her fingers before she could rub the small of her back and wiped
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