Through Your Lens

Take Away The Big Shirts

Marrisa Torres-

      It's been a week since I took my car to the shop and Uber Lux is painfully annoying. I miss my baby, my BMW i8, that had been gifted to me by the company. 

     I got out of my Uber at the BMW dealership where I left my car last week, ignoring the nagging request of my driver for my phone number. 

    I wasn't only here to pick up my car, however, I was also here to do a job for BMW. My best friend, Emanuel, was supposed to be here to take pictures of me in my car.  

    "Hey Marrisa," he called to me from the other end of the parking lot.

      I rolled my eyes under my Ray-Bans and waved him into the fully decorated garage. My car was being wiped down by a mechanic who happened to be holding my keys. I had never seen him before despite being friends with most of the mechanics and salesmen at the dealership. 

   "One more thing in your trunk and I'll be finished, ma'am." He said, wiping the sweat from his glistening forehead. I don't remember anything being wrong with my trunk but I figured he knew more than I did. 

I couldn't help but notice that this mechanic was particularly cute but I haven't dated since I was a teenager and there was no use putting that nonsense into my head. I flashed a smile as he handed me my keys and I stepped into my car.

Emmanuel pulled out his camera and started directing lighting shades everywhere. I worked myself into a delicate pose, pulling my already tight skirt up to show most of my legs. Sex appeal sold, and when products sold, I got more jobs. People asked me if modeling was hard, and honestly no, it's not. I love what I do, or rather, I love living a million dollar lifestyle and getting paid for it. I don't have a lot of friends in the industry or period, but after all this time that is the way I prefer it.

I flashed a couple more pictures, and got out of my car, signing a few legal documents stating all of my percentages.

"I always love seeing your work out there. You're not a pretentious girl that knows nothing about the car. You always compliment our brand very well." The manager of the company, Marty, said as he hugged me.  

I laughed, "I've never been one to baby a car Marty."

"Oh, I know love. Our newest mechanic, Chris,  was rather shocked when he found out you owned the car."

"Why is that?" I wondered, silently noting that the hottie's name was Chris. 

"He saw so much brake dust, he figured you must be some rich boy with a lead foot." 

I chuckled and gave Marty a knowing smile before he informed me that he had to go finish a business deal with some Italian franchise owner.

I hugged Emmanuel bye after looking over a few of the pictures myself and hopped into my car, sinking into the smooth leather. 

I flipped down my sunshade just to check for my registration and insurance when I noticed a paper that shouldn't have been there. 

Coffee @ 6? 

The little-scribbled note read, followed by a phone number, and a familiar name: Chris. 

That was rather bold of him, knowing I could probably have any guy I wanted. I turned the slip of paper over in my hand not knowing what to do with it. I eventually slipped it into my purse and told myself I'd call Emmanuel about it when I got home. 

I took off, winding the California back roads until I got to my house, not far from Calabasas. 

I got inside, made myself dinner, and ate it reading my favorite book, but I couldn't keep myself from thinking about the little note in my purse. Pushing aside my pride and giving in to my curiosity I opened my phone and dialed the number. 

"Hello?" A sleepy voice answered.

His voice was so sexy.

"Hey," I said, a little unsure of myself, "Listen, I got your note and I'm really not down with this whole dating thing so maybe I can meet you for dinner somewhere, and we can spend the night and we can forget this ever happened."

"Note?" Chris replied quizzically.

"Uhm, yeah?" I responded, internally kicking myself. "I brought my i8 into the shop today and you left a note with your name and number and asked me to meet you for coffee."

"Oh. Oh, screw Cameron." He said, a little annoyed.

"Cameron? What does he have to do with this?" I asked referring to the ginger that worked at the shop. 

"He must've put that there. He says I need to get out more."

I giggled, "Well I'm still up for dinner and hookup if you're okay with that."

I usually wasn't the forward type but it had been a while and he was ripped.

"I'm not the hit and run type, but I guess if you want to grab a snack before I have to hit work tonight that'd be okay."

I glanced at my watch. "The shop isn't open this late."

"The shop isn't my home, rich girl."

"Well, I didn't think you were a big sweater, skinny jeans, Rolex kinda guy. I haven't always been rich you dweeb." I retorted, somewhat offended. 

"Dweeb? What are you? Twelve?" He laughed. I won't lie, the laugh was cute, but I was pissed. 

"Listen, about dinner, I have plans."

"And I have a job." He fired back. 

I rolled my eyes, muttering a quick, "If you ever get off your high horse, call me."

"When pigs fly, rich girl." He managed to get out before I hung the phone up and slung it across the couch. 

I sulked across the room to my refrigerator and grabbed a salad and a soda, before turning on my Netflix, flipping to How to Get Away with Murder.

What is it with men these days? So entitled.  I muttered to myself, settling down on my sofa and wrapping myself in my blanket for the evening.