Losing my mind
733 Words
Thea
I was already mentally listing the tools I would need for the intake cleanup and calculating exactly how I was going to strip down the aftermarket intake without damaging the casing.
The tall, dark-eyed owner of the bike stepped back, giving me space to work. "Is there a restroom I can use?" He asked.
Sam pointed toward the back hallway with a greasy screwdriver. "Just past the office, on your left."
"Alright."
As the man walked away, I laid my tools out on the rolling tray.
My brain was buzzing with torque specs and fuel lines but then a very sudden, very practical thought pierced through the mechanical haze.
The faucet.
The test sink in the back room had been acting up for a week. The handle looked normal but the pressure valve stuck open if you turned it too far and the thing blasted water like a fire hose. Sam kept saying he would fix it after finishing a customer transmission job.
I spun toward the hallway. “Wait, don’t turn the faucet all the way—”
Too late.
A violent burst of water cut me off. Then a muttered curse. Then more splashing.
Sam looked up from his workbench. “Ah, hell.”
I hurried down the hallway with Sam right behind me.
The bathroom door was open and the stranger stood in front of the sink, completely soaked from chest to waist. Water dripped from his dark hair, ran down his neck, and soaked through the fitted black shirt until it clung to every line of his torso.
Oh.
That was… a lot of muscle.
For one dangerous second, my brain stopped being a mechanic and became a traitor.
Broad, heavy shoulders. A chiseled, rock-hard chest. The unmistakable, rigid definition of his abs pushed against the soaked cotton, leading directly down to the silver buckle of his belt.
He looked like a wet-dream centerfold ripped straight out of a magazine. It was an unfairly arousing sight.
My throat went dry, and a sudden, involuntary heat flushed across my cheeks. I suddenly felt very aware of my own heartbeat.
And because my subconscious apparently hated me, the image collided with the memory of the red-lit room at the club.
That man, his significant size.
Holy f**k. I must be ovaluting.
"Jesus, I am so sorry!" Sam rushed over to him, panicking. "That test faucet has a busted pressure valve. We haven't had the time to swap it out yet. Turns into a damn geyser if you turn it past halfway."
The man ran a large hand through his damp hair, pushing it out of his face. Surprisingly, he wasn't yelling. A faint, almost amused smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.
"It's fine…" He said, pulling the soaked fabric of his shirt away from his skin. "Though it’s definitely not my usual shower routine."
"Thea, do me a favor." Sam said quickly. "Take him to my back room. I have some clean, dry clothes folded on the chair. Find him a shirt that fits."
"Right. Okay," I stammered, forcing my eyes away from the man's torso. I quickly popped my gum, trying to regain my composure. "Follow me."
I turned on my heel and walked toward the back of the shop, acutely aware of his footsteps following right behind me.
The air in the narrow hallway suddenly felt thick, charged with the scent of his wet skin and that lingering hint of expensive cologne.
When we reached the small, cramped room Sam used as a living space, I pushed the door open and stepped inside.
"Sorry about the mess." I muttered, walking over to the small wooden dresser.
"It's fine…" he replied.
Just when I was about to ask about his size, the flashback hit me again.
The dark, red-lit office at the Open Road club.
I remembered the half-naked woman squirming on the couch, and more vividly, I remembered the man beneath her.
The guy in that room... he had been equally robust. I hadn't seen his face clearly in the dark but I remembered the way the red light had caught the slick sheen of sweat on a hard, intensely muscular chest. A chest that looked exactly like the one currently two steps behind me.
I squeezed my eyes shut for a second, shaking my head to clear the scandalous thought.
I was losing my mind.
- Writer
