What happens when a finger painting prodigy hitches a ride from a disfigured biker? Why chaos of course!
Quirky, oddball Georgie is anything but normal. For years she hasn't only suffered from a lack of filter but she also has "episodes." She can't...
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"Have you ever smelled a craving?"
Adonis works under the hood of an SUV. When I barged in here unannounced, I had expected him to be in some snug tank top and baggy pants while working, like how books describe hot mechanics, but instead he's in a navy long sleeved coverall.
He pulls out a bright red rag from his back pocket wiping his hands with it, then his sweaty face. Any movement he makes my traitorous eyes catch, because the curiosity I have about him buried deep down isn't buried as deep down as I thought.
Stuffing the rag back in his pocket he asks, "You mean like how you smell something then crave it?"
"No, like you imagine it without even being around it and then you swear you can smell it."
"No. Sounds like something a pregnant woman would say."
My butt wiggles on the workbench I'm sitting on and every once in a while I hand him tools he needs. "That would mean I'm the new Virgin Mary." He drops the tool he's working with making me smile. "Right now, I smell blueberries and I want some."
"How are you smelling blueberries in a mechanic shop? You should be smelling metal and B.O."
"I told you," I say jumping off the workbench. "I imagined it and now I smell it."
"Why are you here, Tater Tot?"
"To keep an eye on you and make sure you don't dish out my secret." I begin organizing his tool station. "And it's a good thing I am because this place is a mess. Don't worry though," I say smiling at him. "I won't be annoying you the whole time. Once I'm done organizing these I will be going to the office to paint."
"Does your dad know you're here."
I roll my eyes. "How old do you think I am?"
"Twenty-two." He grunts as he takes something off the engine.
"Does a twenty-two year old typically need to be telling her daddy where she is at all times."
He begins cleaning the piece as a smile makes its way onto his face and that dimple is exposed. "When she's hanging out with a motorcycle club she does, especially ours."
I wait trying to decide if I want to ask him my next question or not. "Hey, Adonis?"
Cuing in on my tone he gives me his undivided attention which makes my skin heat up. Looking away I fiddle with some tools. "Does everyone in the club suffer from PTSD?"
The workbench squeaks and I glance over to my right to see him leaning against it, staring at me. "Pretty much. Some are worse than others." My leg starts bouncing. "Ask it, Tater Tot."
"Does my dad?"
Adonis rubs his oily hand through his dark blonde hair and the messier it looks the more attractive he is. Good Lord. He smirks at my comment but it fades when he realizes I'm waiting for an answer. "That's something you need to ask TreeTrunk."
