Next - Second Chances

CHAPTER 3

Nick brushed her cheek with the back of her hand, but still managed to smear grease across her face. She wiped her hands off the ass of the overalls she was wearing as she cursed under her breath. She walked out of the garage and onto the forecourt where she saw her friend and business partner, Rick Curtis, pull up in the company-branded tow truck with a crumpled up Ford Explorer on the back.

She winced as she got a look at the car and imagined the crash that caused the damage. Fortunately, Rick agreed to the deal she laid out from day one. He handled the grim task of pickups at crash sites, while she covered the more routine breakdowns elsewhere. The clear split in roles worked for them so far and Nick had no intention of swapping out.

They opened the garage “Nicks & Ricks” five years ago, after one drunken night out which was diluted into rants about the lack of pay or perks in their jobs at a motor factory. She thought they were just letting off steam and everything would go back to normal, but a few weeks later Rick showed her the listing for this garage, which was for sale because the owner was retiring and before she could protest, they were putting in a bid and moving to the small town of Madison, 350 miles west of Detroit.

She watched Rick as he climbed out of the driver's side, and couldn't help but notice his face was pale, his lips were thin and his frown was deep. He nodded at her with his chin but didn’t say anything as he moved to the rear of the tow truck to start releasing the car. She felt a sharp pain cinch her chest and had to take a slow deep breath to release the tightness. She wanted to ask how it went, but she wasn't sure she could handle the details, so she watched from afar, her arms tight across her chest.

Rick’s sandy brown hair was ruffled and messy on top, but cut close at the sides and back. He had a barely there beard that he insisted was cultivated, and she teased him it was as much as he could grow due to his lack of testosterone. At least she did that once until he threatened to show her the rest of his body hair to prove just how much testosterone he had, and she never teased him about it again.

Eight years ago, they'd both been hired on the same day at a Detroit factory, joining the same machine engineering team. While the other men there dismissed her, focusing on her appearance and making unwanted comments, Rick was the only one who believed in her ability to fix anything.

They clicked instantly and became fast friends, joined at the hip so much that people thought they were married. She never cared enough to correct them and sometimes Rick would pretend to be disgusted, as if he was her brother, or gay, or love lorn because she constantly refused him. None of which were true. They never explored that possibility because they were too busy having fun and becoming friends.

Truth be known, he was the best wing man she ever had and did more for getting her laid than she probably did herself. She liked to think she had returned the favour, though he grumped when she vetoed certain women, saying they would ruin him.

He knew everything about her. Everything. Including the reason why she wouldn’t go to crash sites. And by the look on his face when he returned, he understood it more now than ever.

Nick walked away from the crumpled car he was tending to and moved across the forecourt back to the car she had been working on before Rick arrived. She fixed the blanket over the edge of the front and leaned in to continue working on the engine. The music playing on the radio was some random rock station and just when her thoughts were refocusing on the alternator in front of her, it changed to some country ballad and her brain fritzed.

Even after three months, the sound of a Western melody brought back the intense physical memory of that night at the cowboy bar, a sensation she felt unmistakably between her legs. Nolan Chance. His name floated to the front of her mind like it did more than she cared to admit. And with his name came the memory of other things she enjoyed about it.

How his tongue reached unbelievably deep.

How his fingers gripped her thighs so tightly, the next morning she found a row of small circular bruises on each leg.

How his c**k moved so snugly but fluidly in and out of her tight p***y she joked about it being moulded just for him.

She never let those thoughts linger though, and would never say them aloud lest they conjure up some comeuppance she rightly deserved for never calling him.

She still wasn’t sure if her p***y had forgiven her for that transgression. Every s****l encounter since that night had been perfunctory and utterly unsatisfying. She hadn’t come like that before, or since, and she wasn’t convinced she ever would again.