As you wipe the greasy towel on your forehead, you suddenly hear the roar of a car engine pulling up to the shop. You turn around and spot a red Mustang—a beautiful one—but what's even more beautiful is the woman inside of it. She has brunette hair and pretty full lips, and she's wearing this dope leather jacket that you absolutely have to ask where she got.

She pulls up to you and gives you a toothy smile. Iris feels something constrict in her chest at the sight of your muscles underneath the dirty tank top you're wearing, and for once, feels her mind go empty. "Hi."

"Nice whip you got." You say, playfully slapping your towel on the hood.

"Thank you. It's my ex-boyfriends." She blurts out, blushing.

"You kill him? Most guys I know would rather cut off their own hand than give their girl the keys to their car." It's a joke, but the air gets awkward as she stays silent and you clasp your hands together, shattering the tension. "So what can I do for you?"

"I just need an oil change." She replies, smiling again. She squints her eyes in the harsh sunlight and you nod, popping her hood up before mumbling that you'll be right back.

Iris drums her fingers against the wheel while she waits for you to return. She turns to her right and realizes she left the duffle bag of money in view and panics. Quickly, she shoves it to the floor and takes her jacket off, throwing it over just in time for you to walk back in.