“Wrong? What happened? I told you to fly out there.”
“I don’t know. It just died. No warning or anything,” I tell him, coasting to the side of the road. “The dash lights and things are on, but it won’t hit a lick. Maybe a starter or something. I told you I’m not flying into a place where they only accept tinker-toy planes. That’s not happening.”
“I’m no mechanic, but since you already had it started and driving when it died, that doesn’t sound like it,” Seth says sarcastically.
“Fine, then. Alternator or something. I don’t know,” I grumble. I look out the windshield and can see a garage about twenty feet in front of me. That, at least, is a stroke of luck.
“You need me to locate a tow service?” Seth asks.
“No. I see a garage up the street here. Claude’s Garage. If you don’t hear from me in an hour, call the cops.”
“Oh, will you stop? It’s not like I sent you to the town where Deliverance was filmed.”
“If I hear dueling banjos, just know I’m coming back to haunt your ass Seth.”
“Yeah, yeah, check in in an hour and try to keep your pants zipped up. I know it will be hard for you.”
“You said hard,” I joke, breathing a little easier when I walk towards the garage. It looks normal. Hopefully I won’t die at the hands of some Norman-Bates-wanna-be-grease-monkey.
“Fuck off,” Seth says before disconnecting the call. I click off my phone, stow it in my pocket, and walk the rest of the way to the garage. Blue would have a freaking ball laughing at me right now. Suddenly all those times I made fun of him for taking mechanic class instead of co-ed PE seem less amusing. Then I think of how grumpy Blue seems to be all the time and immediately nix the idea. Hell, if mom hadn’t caught him with Sara Jane in the barn loft when we were kids, I’d think the man was still a virgin. I should have brought the Caddy, but honestly my Tahoe reminds me of home and I’d never admit it to my brothers or my meddlesome mother, but I miss Texas.
When no one comes out, I go through the open bay doors looking for Claude. The smell of oil and gas is strong. My nose curls in distaste. There’s a reason I’d never pay attention to Blue. The interior is dimly lit. There are florescent lights humming above, the light is stark and shines mainly over the cars that are inside. An old truck is on one side, jacked up and on ramps. Coming out from under it are two oil-soaked legs in thick mechanic coveralls and steel-toed boots. Claude, I guess.
“Hello? I’m looking for the owner? Claude?”
I know that voice. I know the deep baritone that sends shivers down my back and tingles of need through my body. I’ve been thinking about that voice since Sunday morning when I left him lying in bed, sound asleep. I know that voice and that voice is here inside my garage. The shock of that causes the wrench I’m using to remove the plug from the pan to slip. The plug does indeed come out, but at an angle and before I’m ready. Oil spurts out onto my face and pours down my chin and neck. I quickly divert it to the draining pan, but the damage is done.
“Motherfucker,” I gripe. It’s not very ladylike, but cut me some slack. I was raised by a guy named Banger; most of my vocabulary isn’t ladylike.
“Excuse me?” Gray asks.
I know it’s him. I don’t need to see his face. My problem is, I don’t know why he’s here. Surely he’s not here to find me? How would he have done that? He doesn’t even know my name. I mean, he called me CC, but I sure didn’t tell him my name was Claude. And I know for a fact that I never once mentioned where I live. That’s something I would never do, especially with a random hookup. Not that I’ve had those that often, or really much at all. If I did, my dry spell wouldn’t have lasted so damned long. Still, I’m not stupid, and you never give out your personal info. Somewhere in my head, I hear Banger growl at me about sleeping with strangers. Crap!
“Shut up, Banger. You knew my bitch of a mom and you still slept with her. That didn’t work out so well for you either, did it?” I whisper to the voice in my head. Yes, I realize that’s a stupid thing to do, but I’m in a panic, and it seems better than having to talk to the man standing out there in my garage waiting for me to roll out from under this car. Shit!
“Listen, I need my car looked at. It quit out front and I have a meeting. Is Claude around?”
A meeting? His car quit here? Is he telling the truth?