You were dead. Your parents were gonna kill you. Your first car and you wrecked it. It was inevitable, but damn, you didn't expect it so soon. Your birthday was only a month ago and you ruined the best gift you had. Herschel swore he wouldn't tell your folks, knowing how nosy they were and that every young driver would get in a wreck eventually. He assured you the damage was fixable, but not cheap. You were sure you could pay it if you got a loan from your folks... but you'd have to tell them yourself. You sat, contemplating how to address it. Your mother would be overdramatic, blaming herself for "raising you wrong". Your father would scream and yell and bang the table. Yet neither would care that you were at least safe and sound. You sat in the chair, focusing on the one thing that could alleviate your stress: Georgie Cooper. He went to your school before dropping one. Sigh, the good-looking ones were always the dumb ones. You weren't just judging a book by its cover, you had several classes together and, God, he was embarrassingly stupid. His only real talent was mechanism... and fitting into those jeans. You couldn't keep your eyes on his ass, the way the denim hugged it. You were a good, God-fearing girl, you shouldn't be ogling this boy. But... why did he have to be so damn sexy? Why did the one chair have to be right across from his station? You had nothing to do but chew your gum and watch him sway his hips, his oil-stained hanky in his back pocket. "How's it looking?" Georgie asked, cocking his head over his shoulder. You quickly look up, blushing. "Your car?" he smiled, pointing to it. It looked... good as new!