Yolanda Monroe eased her white 2009 Nissan Altima into one of the work bays of her local Jiffy Lube. It was a cold December evening, just before Christmas. She wouldn't be here except her baby had a weird knocking sound coming from under the hood.
She glanced around the place, but couldn't see any workers. 'That's weird. If no one is here, why was the door open?' She beeped her horn and was rewarded with a door opening further in. The tall, blonde, slab of beef walking towards her made her stomach flip, and palms sweaty. Her throat went dry as her heart rate increased. The light blue overalls he wore clung to his muscled form like a second skin. A brief flash of pulling down the zipper with her teeth almost made her swoon. 'Get a hold of yourself, girl.' Then, 'I'd love for him to get a hold of me. Damn.'
He reached a long arm out and flicked a switch. An instant later, the garage was flooded with light, giving her a good look at him. He was about six feet even, and looked to be either a football player, or a professional wrestler. Before she could catch herself, she pictured him in nothing but boots, kneepads, elbow pads, and the little underwear style tights. She grew damp. 'Fucking hormones. It would have to be just before Aunt Flo visits that I meet this guy. If I'm not careful, I'm going to be throwing myself at him. Jeremy wouldn't be happy with that. Is he ever-' She crushed the thought. She was married, and that was that.
She opened the car door, and rose to her full five foot two height. He stepped further into the light, and his piercing blue eyes took her breath away. 'Damn. Why'd he have to have blue eyes?' Blues were one of her weaknesses. This, plus her hormones making her horny, and not having sex made for a dangerous combination. Her husband's touch made her skin crawl any more.
"Welcome tae Jiffy Lube, cailín álainn. I'm Michael. How may I be of service to you?"
'Fuck. He's Irish, too? I'm doomed.' She ran her fingers through her thick raven hair, and smiled at him. Her hair was her best, and as usual, only decent feature. "I'm Yolanda, and I'm having car troubles, I think."
Michael nodded. "It's what I be here for. What seems tae be the issue?"
"There's a knocking coming from under my hood."
"Is it when ye start your car, after ye've been running it for a while, or something else?"
"It varies. Sometimes when it's been running, and sometimes when I start it."
He nodded again. "Pop the hood for me, would ye?"
"Sure." Yolanda slid behind the wheel and pulled the hood lever, causing the lid to raise an inch.
Michael walked over and raised the hood the rest of the way. He placed the bracing rod in place and got a light. "Start her up, would ye, cailín álainn?" A few seconds later, the Altima purred to life, then started knocking. "Ms. Yolanda, would ye turn off the engine and come here?"
She shut it off, and came around the side to where he peered inside the engine. "Yes?"
"Yer timin' belt has slipped. It be a simple fix, and rather expensive." He glanced at her. "If ye'd like, I can teach ye how to place it where it belongs so ye don't have tae pay five hundred dollars tae have someone fix it."
"Really?" He nodded. "Wow. I've never had anyone offer to teach me anything useful like this."
"Well, look here, cailín álainn." He proceeded to show her how to take the battery cable off, remove the distributer cap and rotate the engine. As he instructed her, he'd have her reach in and use the tools as often as he would do it himself. His hand covered hers by accident for a few seconds, causing a spark to shoot up her arm before he jerked away.
Heart pounding, but a little hurt, she looked over at him. She was amused and relived to see Michael had turned a bright red. 'I wonder...' When he turned back, she reached up, and stroked her hair. 'Was that casual to Michael, or was it obvious I wanted him to look?'
She saw him look at her playing with her black tresses, then his gorgeous peepers slid further down her body. As they did, she became more aware of their closeness, and the scent emanating from him. It was the smell of engine grease mixed with the scent of leather, and the slight mint fragrance of Brut aftershave, or cologne. They were intoxicating together.
His gaze came up to hers, and she could see the naked want in his eyes. She bit her side of her lower lip, and gasped when his attention locked in that slight movement. 'I have his undivided attention,' she thought, peering at him. 'This is new. I wonder how far it'll go.' She surreptitiously slid her hand up and gently scratched the side of her breast. He was riveted. His tongue flicked out to wet his lip, a flash of pink that made her knees weak. 'You're a married woman. Stop playing with this man before you get burned.' She chose to ignore the inner voice. Her hand stole up, and caressed her throat. He swallowed hard. 'I wonder...'
"Michael?" Her voice was soft.
He started, and flushed brick red. "A-aye?"
"Do you have a girlfriend?" 'Why the hell did you ask him that, girl?'
"N-nay."
She reached out and slid her finger up his large forearm. 'Ooh. That's solid muscle.' He swallowed with an audible click. "Why not?"
"I h-have diff...diff...troubles ta-talkin' to them."
"How can a big, strapping man like you have difficulties talking to women? I'm sure they're falling all over themselves to be with you."
"N-nay. Th-tha l-l-ladies only want guh-guys they can talk tae. Nuh-not stutterin' galoots like me."
"You're not a galoot." 'What does that even mean?'
"Just talk to them the same way you did with the girl who relieved you of your virginity." She smiled up at him.
