Satellite of Love. Christa Maurice

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СКАЧАТЬ list of calls as she walked through the hallway to watch Michael pull her car in. Tony didn’t like customers in the bay. He claimed it was dangerous. The only danger she could imagine was brain damage from the stench of oil, gasoline and exhaust. Brain damage be damned, she wasn’t going to pass on the chance to ogle.

      “Hello?”

      “Hi—” Crud, what was this bachelor’s name? “It’s Maureen. I wanted to let you know I can’t make it tonight.”

      “Sorry to hear that.” He didn’t sound sorry. Maybe Linda’s sales pitch hadn’t been that good.

      “My brakes are making a horrible noise. I’m sure you can hear it.” Michael had just pulled through the door and the squeals echoed beautifully on the cinderblock walls.

      “That sounds pretty bad. Um... I guess you’ll need a ride.”

      “No.” That was it. No more of Linda’s blind dates. “I’ll be fine.”

      “Okay. I guess I’ll talk to you.”

      Not if I recognize your number before I answer the phone. “Yeah. Okay. ’Bye.” She closed her phone. At this very moment she could be at home watching TV in sweats, grading math tests and deciding to bring the car to Tony tomorrow. She’d washed her hair, shaved her legs, put on makeup and dressed up for whatshisname. The sexy dark blue jersey dress she’d selected needed somebody who’d appreciate her effort. Hands on hips to hold her coat open, she sauntered behind the car. Michael was operating the lift, but he gave her a once over when she passed.

      “Well?” she asked.

      “They aren’t supposed to sound like that. I’ll have to pull the tire off to see how bad it is, but it’s not going to be good. Does Tony do all the maintenance on your car?”

      “Most of it. He told me to go to the quick lube places for my oil changes.” Lube, hehe. She really needed to mix with adults more often.

      “Has your transmission fluid been clear?” Michael walked to the front driver’s side tire, so she followed him.

      “I guess so. The guy at the lube place said I needed to have it flushed next time I go in. Why?”

      “Felt to me like your transmission was slipping.” He popped the hubcap off and used a loud tool to loosen the lug nuts.

      When she flinched away from the noise, she bumped into the car he’d been working on. It was black except for the trunk, which was orange. Just sitting there, hood up and orange trunk lid, it seemed to say, “Hey, baby, wanna ride?” She sidled toward the front. On the fender a strip of masking tape said Satellite of Love. “Is this your car?”

      Michael looked over his shoulder, yanking the tire off as if it weighed less than a duvet. “Yeah. That’s my baby.”

      “Satellite of Love?”

      “My sister-in-law’s idea of a joke. It’s a ’72 Plymouth Satellite.”

      As if that meant something to her. As far as she could tell, it was a car that might or might not run. She leaned on the Satellite’s fender. Her car always looked so helpless up on the lift. More so now that it was missing a tire.

      “You headed someplace tonight?” Michael asked.

      “A date.”

      “Sorry.”

      “Naw, if I’d really wanted to be there I could have continued to ignore that squealing.” She grinned, but he didn’t turn around to see it. Another wasted effort. “So what are you doing here?”

      “I’m visiting my brother and his family.” Michael glanced over his shoulder frowning, clearly absorbed with the car thing in his hand. Men and their obsession with inanimate objects. “This is bad.”

      “What’s bad?” She stepped forward.

      “This piece?” He held up a dirty, holey piece of who knew what in his large, strong-looking hand. “This is the shoe. This is what stops your car and it works best when it isn’t full of holes.”

      Her grimace, such an attractive expression, he did see. Of course. “Is it expensive?”

      “Expensive?”

      Why did he sound like money was no object to him? “Yes, is it going to cost a lot to fix?”

      “It’s not cheap, but it’s a lot less expensive than plowing into a wall or another car.” He shrugged. “Tony’s pretty busy tomorrow, but if he can’t get to it, I’m sure we can do it Sunday so you can have it back for Monday.”

      She clenched her fists behind her back. As if that would keep the money from flying out of her wallet. “Will somebody call me and tell me when to bring it in?”

      “Oh no.” Michael dropped the worn brake shoe on the floor. “You can’t drive out of here like this.”

      “If you put the tire back on, I can.”

      “No, you can’t.” Michael folded his arms, which accented those fantastic shoulders and did incredible things to the muscles in his upper arms. “I can’t let you drive this car in good conscience. You’d be a danger to yourself and anyone else on the road.”

      “Great.” Maureen stared out the bay door into the waning light, thoughts of fantastic shoulders ebbing. She’d have been better off going on the stupid date. A whole weekend without a car? The price was too high. “How am I supposed to get home?”

      “I can give you a ride or you can call a cab.”

      Her stomach growled. On the top of her To Do list for tomorrow was buying groceries. Until she could get out to the store, she was eating oatmeal and crackers with jelly. “Great.”

      “You know, if you’re hungry we could stop for pizza on the way.” Michael smiled. He had a warm, playful smile that gave her a glimpse of the little boy in this big hunk of man. “My treat since I know Tony is going to gouge you on the repair. I’ll even kick in a ride in the Satellite of Love.”

      Well, that did make the bill a little more manageable. “You had me at pizza.”

      He nodded. “I’m known for overplaying my hand. Let me clean up and we’ll get out of here.” Switching off the work light hooked to the Satellite, he set it aside and closed the hood. Then he headed toward the little hallway. “It’ll only take me a minute.”

      This had to be one of her more irrational moments. Fifteen minutes ago she’d been convinced he was going to murder her and dump her body in an alley and now they were headed out to grab a pizza? In his car yet. Insane much? “Hey, you aren’t going to turn out to be a serial killer, are you?” she called after him.

      He turned at the mouth of the hallway. “A what?”

      “Never mind.”

      He chuckled, a deep rich sound. “Don’t worry. I’m not a serial killer.” Then he ducked through a door in the hall that was always closed.

      She should probably be concerned СКАЧАТЬ