Ellie:
Okay counting my blessings here, cough with a pinch of salt cough.
I got into my dream college but my father hates me for it. I am finally confident enough to wear what I want without letting others affect my choices, but people still ridicul...
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ELLIE
Hardy Hands is a very stereotypical, very mechanical shop. The shop looks like it's combined into a single shop from two and the owner put three pillars smack in the middle of the shop to create somewhat of a distinction between the two shops. On one side of the pillar, there's a billing counter and two shelves selling what looks like hardware oil and car washing soaps.
On the other side of the shop, towards the end wall are three bikes, some of them with a headlight missing while one looks completely okay. Must be some internal damage. In the middle of the room, there's a car, its hood propped open, the windshield a mosaic of broken glass.
Below the car, two legs are sticking out, black ripped jeans hanging low on his waist; as if this wasn't enough to make sure I never look at normal men the same again, he's shirtless. I mean, I get it. You're working with grease and oils that stain, why would you ruin a perfectly well shirt, but holy shit. Logan's – I mean I am hoping this is Logan and not some weird random dude I am creepily staring at – hockey player body is very apparent and very Godly. Rock hard abs gleaming under sweat, a slight dusting of hair that teases, hiding away behind the pants, not so subtly hinting at what's under them.
I look away because this feels weirdly similar to ogling and that's some creepy shit.
"Um," I clear my throat, "Logan?"
He slides out of the car, bulging muscles gripping the underside of the car. He squints at me for a few seconds, probably the sunlight behind me working its magic; his right cheek is stained with something black and I'll take a wild guess and say it's grease.
"Hey Ellie, yeah Lex called I remember." Jesus Fuck. That cigarette voice.
As if things weren't already swooning enough, he has a red bandana tied around his head and multiple strands of white-blonde hair frame his forehead. I think I am going to pass out right this second because what in the Cameron Dallas? I thought only Dallas could pull off bandanas and it honestly looked stupid on everyone else who did it. But Logan looks like he stepped out straight from a playboy-for-girls magazine; with his glistening body and diamond cut jawline, he has heartbreak written all over him.
"Yeah uh," my voice sounds strong and confident and I send a message of thanks to my vocal cords, "My car broke down actually. Just around the corner, we don't have to walk much."
"Alright cool," Logan never smiles, "Let me put something on and then we can go check?"
"Sure," I look down at my sneaker-clad feet because my vocal cords didn't help me hide the sadness of not seeing a shirtless Logan anymore.
He goes back behind the counter, opening a door and vanishing behind it. I take the time to look around; on the shelf there are key chains of cars and high seated bikes and Boston souveniers. Below the Boston key chain, it's inscribed 'where everything is better'. I smile as I look down and see the same key chain designs but in rubbers, probably for kids.
