An arranged marriage. An illicit affair. An unforgettable passion. A forbidden love...
A spoiled socialite clashes with a streetwise mechanic who challenges the order of her privileged life while an arranged marriage threatens even more.
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It was my day off, but there was no place else I would've rather been than the shop. I told myself I wasn't working Friday morning as I stepped into the garage to just take inventory and the atmosphere. I had a couple of people requesting paint jobs and rim placements, but other than that, I was free to go anytime I pleased.
Not that that was going to happen any time soon. I lived for this life, the hustle, the buzzing sound of a drill, the people from the neighborhood who only came to Rod's because they trusted us before anyone else, the feel of grease and metal in my hands—the garage was home to me.
Chatter filled the garage of Rod's Repair as mechanics were working away on clients' vehicles. I stood off to the side with Armin, an old classmate of mine who'd bought a restored Chevy Nova. The rusted body was in need of something fresh, something vivid to make it really stand out like the beauty she was.
Armin scrolled through his phone's image library, showing me several paint jobs he'd Googled to see which I liked the best for his ride.
"Whatchu think about the red, Keith?" Armin asked as he tapped the screen of his phone.
Red was a staple for some classic cars, and the Nova would look nice in that finish. Although, I was leaning elsewhere as I rubbed at my jaw. "It's nice, but that black is clean."
Armin whistled. "Shit, that's where my head is at. My girl was thinkin' the navy-blue, and that's cool too."
He went back to search for the navy-blue paint job.
"Dayum," I heard one of the mechanics snap in the background.
My attention drew across the room, to the store entrance to the garage. Standing in the doorway, looking around, was Kennedy.
Nearly all the men in the room had their eyes on her, and I couldn't blame them.
My eyes traveled from her black lace-up stilettos, up her oiled legs, past her white lace summer dress, to her pretty lost face. Her hair was wavy today, there was a gold necklace with some pendant on it around her neck, and I couldn't take my eyes off where her dress ended and her thighs began.
One thing about Kennedy I'd grown to notice, she had a thing for wearing white or cream shaded clothing, and it worked for her.
I hadn't heard from her all week, and despite her rules, a part of me was worried. At least about her father. Seeing her now, and the way that white dress complemented her smooth, deep brown skin tone and hugged her body, was a hell of a distraction.
And it wasn't just me.
I didn't run the garage, Uncle Rod did, but even I knew he wouldn't like the sight of his men staring at the woman in the doorway rather than the vehicles in front of them. I sure as hell didn't.
