The Mechanic

EIGHTEEN

I closed my laptop, then stretched my arms and cracked my neck. I just got an email from LushLust. They informed me that they already published the first two chapters of my book this morning. I looked up at their website and I saw my work there, in the New Releases tab. Sixth on the list was The Mechanic, and I was grinning like an idiot when I saw it. I tried to read it, but couldn't finish it. I didn't know why, I was like, embarrassed or something. I couldn't believe that I just wrote that, that those dirty ideas came from my brain.

The comments section under my story was already overflowing with the readers' thoughts. There were almost fifty comments already, most of them praising me. Someone said that the plot was so cliché (I agree, it was some kind of normal porn shit) but she would still read it because it made her horny. I laughed when I saw that comment and was stunned when I realized that a woman was reading my story. I mean, I thought the LushLust was just for horny men and abandoned husbands. I was wrong.

Half of the readers were ladies. And they all have a similar reaction; they found Harvey really hot. I described Harvey like I was just describing Harry. Long curls, green eyes, that naughty grin and fine muscles.

One of the comments said "screw my fucking car. If he's the mechanic I'll pounce on him and let him drill on this pussy."

Believe me, I choked on my saliva and gasped for air after reading that. At the same time, my brain was grinning, mumbling oh wait till you see him in flesh. I bet you'll come before he even touches you.

Right. I just said that. Not aloud, just in my head, but yeah it was fucking crazy. I got crazy for a minute or two as I was scrolling through the comments. Can't blame myself, my readers were entertaining and interesting. And funny.

And horny of course.

I glanced at my window, and the lights on Harry's room were on. His windows were shut, though. My face crumpled to a bitter frown when I remembered how he treated me earlier in the cinema. He was cold and distant like he didn't want to see me there.

I closed my windows. My mind was picturing scenes; scenes of Harry and Sam making out in his room. I shook my head, feeling slightly disgusted. Sam is a minor. A seventeen-year-old, and Harry didn't mind. Maybe he would never mind fucking underage girls because he was careless like that.

I went downstairs to make myself some snack, maybe it would clear my mind. What Harry does with his life wasn't my business anymore.

I grabbed a pack of peanuts and dashed to the stairs to go back to my room, but the doorbell dinged.

I stopped in my tracks, waiting for the doorbell to let out a sound again. Sometimes, random teens would ring on the doorbells with no reason, just to annoy the owner of the house or entertain themselves.

It was already past midnight. Who would visit me at this time?

The bell echoed again. I sighed, impatient. I clicked the lights on and peeped on the window to check who was on the door.

Harry?

He was standing there, holding something in his hands.

I debated with myself if I should open the door but it didn't last long. Curiosity won. He had no reasons to show on my door but I was curious why he's here.

"Hi," he greeted me, smiling. The warm smile he used to give me. He lifted his hand, showing me a plastic bag with a tub of ice cream inside. "I got you some treat. We should celebrate."

"Celebrate?"

"Yeah. I saw the comments in your stories. They're all brilliant, they liked what you wrote. We should celebrate that," he grinned, and for a second I thought we were back in Nashville, staring at the clouds because he had the exact same grin.