This is starting to get ridiculous.

Jason is very aware of the fact that his game isn’t the greatest, but he gets by just fine. He isn’t completely hopeless. He’s certainly not a stranger to a bit of awkward fumbling, or an occasional too cheesy pick-up line, but being completely tongue tied? Ridiculous.

He blames the fact that the person working on his bike — his baby — is so ridiculously attractive. Jason tends to prefer to work on her himself, but she’d been completely shredded in the same accident that had broken his arm, and he could hardly fix her up without being able to use both of his hands.

He’d been twitchy when you first started working on her, trying not to butt in every five seconds. You were a professional, it was fine. You did this for a living. And, admittedly, you were better at this than he was. He huffs a little as he comes to that realisation, crossing the arm that wasn’t in the cast over his chest.

(Maybe he’d have to come by here more often. For his baby’s sake, obviously. Totally not the cute mechanic working on her.)

“Sooo…” Jason hums, eyes flicking from the bike, to your hands, trailing along your arms until his gaze lands on your face. “How long you been doing this for?”

He really needs to think of something better to say. Jesus. He’s just trying to will up the courage to ask for your number.