Cheesy on the Eyes by Teagan Hunter Page 0,34
the empty container into a nearby trash can.
“Hey, that old thing is still chuggin’. Give her some credit.”
After my dad went to prison, money got tight. I didn’t think I’d ever get my own car to drive, but I scrimped and saved and, with a little help from the old man who was selling it, I bought her on my seventeenth birthday. She’s been holding together with hopes and dreams since, and though I can certainly afford it now, I can’t bring myself to upgrade.
“Oh, she gets credit for that, but not for anything else.”
“It’s a manual,” I counter.
“Okay, okay.” She nods appreciatively. “Points for not bitching out on an auto-tragic.”
“I take it you’re driving, then?”
“Yep, because my car is cool.”
“Which one is it?” I ask, scanning the lot.
“Guess,” she says.
I know exactly which car it is the moment I spot it. It’s the same one I thought I saw covered in the shop.
And damn am I excited to get in it.
“Oh, that’s easy,” I say. “It has to be that one.” I point toward a gold minivan. “Right?”
She glares at me. “I know you’re just fucking with me, but how dare you.”
Laughing, I place my hand on the small of her back, leading her toward the car I know is hers.
“That’s a much better guess,” she says as we approach her vehicle. “A 1968 Mustang GT Fastback. It’s a three—”
“Three hundred ninety V8 four-speed manual with 325 horsepower.” I check out the famous lines of the body, looking over all the details that went into restoring this beauty. “A Bullitt, right down to the Highland Green paint job.”
The color matches her wide eyes, which are staring at me.
“What?” I ask. “Did I get something wrong?”
“No. I just wish I’d worn panties so I could throw them at you.”
I don’t bother trying to hide my smirk. “Are you not wearing any panties, Thea?”
“I’m not telling you that.”
But her grin says it all.
She’s not.
“I get to drive, right?” I ask.
She barks out a derisive laugh. “Hell no.” Pointing to the passenger side, she says, “That is the only place you sit. Get in.”
We climb inside and Thea twists the key in the ignition. The car comes to life, rumbling under us. She steers us out of the parking lot with confidence and sets us toward our destination.
“How’d you know so much about the car?” she asks once we’re on the road.
“My dad was a huge Steve McQueen fan. I’ve seen all of his movies multiple times, including Bullitt.”
I see the wheels turning in her head as she tucks that piece of information away.
Luckily, she doesn’t press, respecting my earlier request to keep my family off limits.
We fall quiet as she continues to navigate away from the island and onto the highway. I watch her steer the car effortlessly, shifting smoothly and with precision.
She looks sexy as hell.
Dangerously so.
We said no touching, but watching her behind the wheel of a 325-horsepower vehicle after she told me she wasn’t wearing anything under that sexy-as-sin skirt of hers? Yeah, it’s safe to say all I can think about is touching her, running my hands over her curves…letting my fingers play with her hair…holding her to me while I test to see if her lips feel as soft as they look…
I wouldn’t mind getting a little dangerous with Thea.
Not one damn bit.
“Are you into cars in general?” Thea asks.
“I know probably a little bit more than the average Joe”—she side-eyes me—“or Jane,” I amend, “but I’m nowhere near as fluent in car-speak as you are. I can’t dismantle and rebuild a motor or anything.”
“I can,” she says, smiling big. I love that she’s so proud of what she does.
“Is it hard?” I ask. “Being a female mechanic?”
“If you mean is it hard to work in a male-dominated industry where I have to continuously prove myself to everyone over and over every single day and constantly get dismissed as nobody important, then yes.”
I cringe. “I hate that I was one of those people.”
“Eh.” She shrugs. “It’s whatever. There are people out there facing a lot more adversity than I am. On a larger scale, my complaints are minor.”
“But they’re valid,” I interject.
A small smile forms on her lips. “But valid.” She makes a turn, dodging a pothole, being extra careful with the beauty she knows she has. “The hardest of it all is relationships. Since my passion is primarily seen as a dude thing”—she rolls her eyes—“whatever that means, it’s hard to find guys who aren’t