The hood of the Kingston prototype loomed before me like a challenge, its sleek lines mirroring the man who'd designed it. For a moment I wondered how he had so much money and my dad did not.
I leaned in, the familiar scent of hot metal and rubber hitting me as I traced my fingers along the engine.
Ezra stood too close, his body sending alarming heat waves against my back, making the already stuffy garage feel like a sauna. I was soaking up and cooking up in these gears.
My coveralls suddenly felt too tight, the zipper straining over my breasts with every breath.
Dad was across the shop, buried under another vehicle, his tools clanging like thunder.
It was just us here, in this charged bubble of oil and somewhat intense opportunity.
"Slipping gears, huh?" I said, keeping my voice ste
