“It’s fate,” Lexie said firmly.
At this declaration, the car grumbled and jolted slightly.
I looked over at her in disbelief and I relented, pulling into the lot. “Are you a wizard?” I asked seriously.
“Of course not. Girls can’t be wizards,” she replied just as seriously.
I shook my head and chuckled slightly, focusing on maneuvering my way into the parking area of this garage. To my amazement and horror, I noticed a Sons of Templar flag flying above the bays of the garage doors and an emblem over the top of a structure off to the side.
Holy shit.
I didn’t have any choice; I had already pulled up close to the bays where cars were hoisted into the air and a couple of men in coveralls were staring at me. Plus, my car made a final death splutter and turned itself off. Fate was definitely getting her jollies today.
“Bitch,” I muttered under my breath.
I turned to my daughter, who was staring at the same flag in amazement. “Isn’t this the club that Zane’s in? Cool, he might be here. We can say hello,” she suggested brightly.
I narrowed my eyes at her. “This is a biker hangout, Lex, I doubt he’d want to shoot the breeze with us. It’d damage his street cred. He’d have to like, steal a cop car to make up for it. Do you really want to be responsible for Zane getting arrested?” I asked her solemnly. I said that instead of saying there was no way in Hell my sixteen-year-old was going anywhere near the hangout of a motorcycle gang.
“Mom,” she started in that distinct teenage voice that suggested all parents were idiots.
“Nope,” I interrupted her. “We are not going to sit here and debate this. Every second we waste chews into our movie snack selection time. I do not want to be rushed and make a bad snack choice,” I said firmly. “I’m going in. I’ll get someone to look at the car. You stay here while I do so,” I instructed in the best mom voice I could muster.
Lexie conceded with a sigh and yanked a book out of her bag. She opened it and curled up into the seat. I didn’t get much fight out of her; this was yet another prime example of how placid she was. It almost worried me sometimes. No teenager could be that compliant, that well-behaved. I almost wanted her to sneak a beer or go to a party, just to set my mind at ease.
I reluctantly got out of the car. I seriously didn’t want my daughter walking around a biker hangout; I wanted to only slightly less. But I needed my hot guy fix. And by the looks of it, I needed my car fixed in order for that to happen. What were the odds of seeing Zane here anyway? I doubted he would trouble himself fixing cars; he was most likely stealing nuclear launch codes or something.
“Can I help you, darlin’?” a man in coveralls asked me as I approached the garage.
I swallowed as I took him in. Maybe I didn’t need Dom after all; this guy rivaled even Vin Diesel on the hotness scale. He was Hispanic, tall and muscled. His shaven head accentuated his chiseled jaw and sharp cheekbones. A day’s stubble darkened that sharp jaw, while his tattoos peeking out from the collar of his shirt hinted at danger. In fact, it wasn’t his tattoos that spoke danger. It was him. I would have been slightly scared if it wasn’t for the easy smile he directed at me, and the soft look in his eyes. I knew what really dangerous men looked like when they smiled at you. What hid behind those smiles. This guy didn’t have it. I smiled back at him.
“I hope so. My car just kind of died right here in your parking lot. If you could bring her back to life in time for me to catch a seriously good movie, I’d be eternally grateful,” I told him with all seriousness, keeping my smile.
He grinned back and I didn’t miss the way his green eyes swept up my body. I felt myself tingle. This guy was at least five years younger than me, and one muscle away from being a sex god. I couldn’t help but feel flattered at the manly appreciation in his gaze.
“I’d be glad to help in any way I can, sweetheart, especially for eternal gratification,” he flirted.
I was glad I took time on today’s outfit. I was wearing tight, distressed jeans that hugged my legs in the perfect way. That was thanks to the fact they were years old and had practically been molded to my body. I also wore strappy wedges, which did wonders for my legs and my height, since I was only five foot six. My flouncy ruffled top had little flowers all over it and cinched in at my waist, showing a modest amount of cleavage. My makeup was natural and I had swept my blonde curls into a messy side braid. Not exactly biker chic, but I wouldn’t be scaring children on the street.
“Thanks…” I glanced down at the nametag on his coveralls. “…Lucky,” I added.
He tipped an imaginary hat. “My pleasure, darlin’. That it over there?” He pointed to my bright red VW beetle, which currently had a young hot guy lounging against it. I frowned. “Yes, it is,” I muttered.