"No, no! Not now, goddamn it!" Anya smacked her hand on the dashboard, which was showing her bad news. The check engine light had come on out of nowhere, and before she knew it her car had stuttered into a complete standstill on the side of the road. "Great, just great," she griped.
Her 2005 Chevy Impala always seemed to have one issue or the other. In the past year, the alternator had given up, then the air-conditioning had died on her, and now it was obviously the engine's turn. The car was just a goddamn mess, and her former quack of a mechanic hadn't helped matters either. But berating him was not going to solve her current dilemma. She still had a couple more errands to run, and she was yet to get her grocery shopping done. But now, the car wouldn't crank anymore, and worse, it was a Sunday. She didn't know many service stations that were open on Sundays.
Anya's only saving grace this late morning was that the car had died about four blocks away from a service station. Remembering that, she made a decision then and there, and she grabbed her purse, climbed out of the car and headed down the other direction towards the shop. She was so glad she started going to church again. The good Lord had obviously answered her prayers to get her out of this mess.
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The service station looked deserted, with the small customer service desk and waiting room both empty. No customers were waiting around, and there didn't appear to be anyone working there. The garage bays were all open, but the sign on the front door read 'Closed'. Anya sighed tiredly. She was so screwed. She'd walked all this way down, in her heels and her sundress, for nothing. How the heck was she getting home today? And what was she going to do with her car?
A deep voice sounded seemingly out of nowhere, interrupting her gloomy thoughts. "Can I help you, Miss?"
Startled, Anya spun towards the service bay, and on seeing the owner of the voice, her jaw slackened. For a moment, she thought she was dreaming. The man standing in front of Anya looked like a GQ model. Tall as hell, light-skinned with long dark hair, large, muscular arms, and the most beautiful face she had ever seen. His white t-shirt was thin and smeared with grease along with his arms and one side of his face, and his jeans were worn and streaked as well, but the only served to make him look sexier than he already clearly was.
Holy shit.
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