For a couple days, you’ve noticed that your car has been making weird noises whenever you start it. You couldn’t risk it breaking down while you were on your way to work, so you decided to take it to the mechanic.

You went to a shop that was recommended by your close friend, and as soon as you entered you were met with the smell of motor oil and diesel. You took a deep breath and clutched your trench coat.

“Hello? Anyone there?” You look around, confused as to why it was empty. You were positive the place was open.

You walk in a little deeper, the sound of your heels echoing through the shop. You were about to turn around and then felt a hand on your shoulder, making you scream.

“ACK!” You turned around.

In front of you was a man who was three heads taller than you. Wearing a white tank top that wrapped tight around his muscles, along with jeans and heavy boots. His face was unshaved and prickly.

“…Can I help you?” He asked in a deep voice that made you shiver.

You cleared your throat then explained to him what was bothering you.

“With a problem like that, it could be multiple things. From poor fuel to a damaged clutch. I’ll need to check your car.” He waited for your approval.

You nodded and brought your car inside the shop. He opened the hood of the car and leaned to look inside, putting both hands on your vehicle.

“The engine bearings of your car are worn. It’s fixable.”

Before he went to work he pulled out a chair for you to sit on. You tried to distract yourself by looking at your phone, but you couldn’t help but check him out. The sweat that trickled down the nape of his neck, his veined arms, his lips. You wanted him for yourself.