the dents out for the rear fender. The skeletal bones of my motorcycle sit in front of me. It’s a nice morning. A strip of sunlight blankets the driveway as I hammer the shit out of the scrap.
PANG! PANG! PANG!
It’s loud enough to hear through the classic rock blaring through my stereo, but I don’t care. It feels good to watch the bumps even out and bash something in. Another blow hits the sheet a little too hard, and I flip it around. Damn it. I give the distortion a few taps, evening it out again.
I know what’s got me worked up. The hot girl next door. Olivia Stewart. The city girl and her goddamn Toyota Scion.
The moment I saw her, I wanted to bend her over the car and claim those pouting lips. And unzip her tank top and feel her tits spilling into my hands. My pants tighten, my cock swelling at the thought of Olivia’s stubborn mouth wrapped around it.
She’s gorgeous, but not at all my type. Still, there’s something curious about a woman who drives four fucking hours in those fuck-me heels and outfit. When I saw her wheel out those two suitcases, I knew she’d be a pain in the ass. A high-maintenance drama queen. But even that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t jump at the chance to fuck her. My body rolls with heat at the thought of having her.
I lift my hammer again—PANG! Beating this thing to death won’t get her out of my head. The sound ricochets in my ear. It’s painful. The image of Olivia distorts. I raise my arm—and the music suddenly stops.
What the hell?
Behind me, Olivia stands next to the stereo, her finger pressing the off button. Her hair is mussed up from sleep, her cherry red lips fixed into a scowl. She’s wearing pink pajamas that don’t soften her pissed off expression. She takes a few steps toward me, her flip-flops smacking the cement, and I notice she doesn't have a bra. I can see her peaked nipples. My mouth goes dry.
“Good morning, San Francisco. Did you sleep well?” I bite my laughter as I watch her swallow, Don’t call me that!
She crosses her arms over her chest, unfortunately hiding the nice view of her tits. “I was until now. What are you doing?”
“I just like to bang on shit. Look at the garage, sweetheart. I’m building a motorcycle.”
“Do you really have to do that at nine in the morning?”
I smirk at her. “No, I don’t.”
Pink patches of fury rise to her cheeks. She looks like an angry goddess as her hands fall to her hips. She stands over me. I can practically see electricity shooting from her eyes. For some bizarre reason, I want to crush my lips against her mouth and steal that scowl. Fuck me, but I want her.
“Turn the music back on.”
City girl doesn’t move. Instead she stares me down. Hands on her hips like she’s my goddamn wife. Standing in the middle of my garage as though she owns it. “No.”
I must have heard wrong. “Did you seriously just say no to me? This is my property, sweetheart.”
“I booked a room here. I’m entitled to peace and quiet.”
“You’re entitled to what I allow you to do, seeing as it’s my house. If you don’t turn that sweet ass of yours around and press that button, I’ll make you trim my hedges.”
There. Let her work that one over in her head. It’s almost fun to watch her suppress another insult. Her lips go purple as she presses them together to keep from screaming at me.
Her pretty eyes narrow in suspicion. “You’re baiting me.”
“Yes, I am. It’s fun, isn’t it?”
“About as fun as a gun in my mouth.”
I can think of other things that’d be a lot more fun in your mouth. “By law, I’m allowed to start making noise at eight. I know you city folk like to party all night, but nine isn’t that early.”
“It is when you’re on vacation!”
There’s something about her that puts me on edge. Maybe it’s my dick straining against my jeans. It hasn’t been used in a while. A mantra runs through my head like a chant: Fuck her. Fuck her. Fuck her.
Maybe I should. There’s no denying I’m doing all this shit to piss her off, but that’s only because I hate people like her. City slickers. Smug assholes from San Francisco who come to this town in droves because it’s a beautiful spot close to Yosemite. They