Summer Fling: An Anthology by Vi Keeland
Miss Ratchet
Lawson
“SONOFA—” I RUB the back of my head and duck out from under the hood of my awesome, but crappy new car.
Awesome because it’s a classic, and it’s damn well beautiful. Crappy because as sexy as it is, it spluttered and coughed and stopped moving, so now I’m stuck in the middle of the desert sweating my balls off.
I don’t even know why I bothered checking under the hood. It’s not as though I know what to look for. I’ve changed my oil before, once, when I was a teenager, and I filled my windshield washer fluid last year, but otherwise, professionals always deal with my cars.
The woman in the shitbox convertible calls out an apology. I shield my eyes, the glare of the sun reflecting off her windshield, blinding me.
“You need some help?” She opens the driver’s side door of her dusty, rusted out Caddy. It boasts a Nevada license plate.
One of her sandal clad feet hits the ground. Her toenails are painted hot pink. Her legs are cut off at the ankle by the door as she steps out of the car.
“Looks like you’re having a little trouble with your baby.” She uses her hip to close the door and I get a full view of my potential knightess in rusted steel and chrome.
Holy shit.
This woman’s body is the thing wet dreams are made of. Her legs go on forever, long, toned, and tanned, and they’re encased in a pair of denim shorts that ride high on her thighs. Three inches of equally tanned and toned stomach peek out from under the hem of her cropped tank, which has the letters STW stamped across her chest along with a set of cherries over her right boob.
She’s wearing a baseball cap that casts a shadow over her face, and a huge pair of sunglasses.
“Hello! Everything okay there?” She runs her finger along the hood of her car, stopping when she reaches the grill.
I realize I’m gawking. “Oh, uh, yeah, I mean, no. My car broke down.” I thumb over my shoulder at the propped up hood.
“Yeah, I kinda figured.” One side of her mouth tips up in an amused smile. “Any idea what’s wrong?”
I rub my beard and give my head a shake. “Uh, not really? And I can’t get a signal, so calling a tow is tough.”
“Yeah, the reception out here can be spotty depending on your carrier.” She tucks a thumb into her pocket and tips her chin up. “Want me to have a look?”
I can’t imagine what she’s going to be able to do for me, but she’s offering assistance and she’s got a rockin’ body, so I figure why not let her check under my hood? That way I can appreciate her very nice legs without coming across as a leering jerk.
“Sure.” I shrug and step aside.
It’s hotter than a sauna out here and windy, so my hair is blowing all over the place. I gather it up and use the hair tie wrapped around my wrist to secure it in a topknot. Sweat trickles down my spine and my balls are sticking to the inside of my thigh. Commando is probably not the way to go in the desert.
She takes a few tentative steps closer. “I’m Nevah.”
“Never?” I’m struck by a strange sense of déjà vu.
Up close I can see that she has a delicate jawline and full lips. Her long, dark hair is pulled back into a ponytail and threaded through the snapback of her ball cap. She has a dainty nose and high cheekbones, and for some reason, she seems familiar.
She grins. “Not quite. It’s haven spelled backwards, but pronounced like neva eva.”
“Were your parents fans of En Vogue or something?” I want to punch myself in my nuts for asking that.
Especially when she arches a brow. “If you start singing that song, I’m getting back in my car.”
“Sorry. That was bad. And I can’t sing, so I will definitely not offend you further by doing something so heinously disrespectful.” I extend a hand. “I’m Lawson.”
She glances down at my grease-streaked hand, brow furrowed. “Lawson? Is that your first name or last name?”
“First.” I make a fist. ”My hands are disgusting. Bump instead?”
“I’m about to get myself dirty, so I’m not really worried about it.” She slips her fingers into my palm. I instantly regret it because mine is damp and hers is not. Her grip is also incredibly firm. “Also, I thought you were a woman when I first drove by, so on the off chance you’re a psychopath lunatic surfer dude, I should inform you that I’ve taken self-defense classes and I can debilitate you with one move. I also have mace, and I can break your knees with a tire iron, if necessary.” She releases my hand.
“Right. Uh, okay. Well, I’m not a psychopath lunatic surfer and I’ve never taken self-defense classes, so I feel like you’ve got a leg up on me. Also, I don’t have mace, so if you happen to be a lunatic, it looks like there’s a chance I’ll end up baking to death in the sun.” Why the hell does she look so familiar?
She drags her hand down her face to cover her grimace. “Sorry, I watched the Don’t Fuck with Cats documentary last week. It freaked me out to think that Canadians could be serial killers, you know? Makes you wonder if they tell you they’re sorry while they’re lopping off your head.”
“Dude! I watched that last week, too! I’m supposed to go up to Canada next month. Now I feel like I might need those self-defense lessons you’re talking about and maybe the mace, too. Scared the shit right out of me. Not literally, of course, just figuratively.”
“I love Netflix, but those freaking documentaries always call my name late at night. It’s never a good idea, and yet I do it every time.” She turns her attention to my car and ducks under the hood.
“I hear you on that.” I try not to watch a lot of TV in the evening; otherwise, I find myself binging series and then I sleep until noon and fuck half my day away.
She makes another face and whistles. “I hope you weren’t planning to drive this baby up to Canada. She’s gonna need a lot of work before she’s ready to be ridden hard, aren’t you, sweetheart?” She strokes along the fender, the same way I would caress a lover during foreplay.
Also, I’m not sure if I actually heard those words come out of her mouth or I’ve just been standing in the sun too long. Maybe she’s not even real. She could be a mirage that my mind has conjured up. I could be lying on the ground right now, halfway to dead and not even know it.
She looks up at me, her ponytail swishing across her shoulder, and pushes her sunglasses up. For the first time, I get a look at her eyes. They’re a shade of blue that reminds me of the beach. Cool and fresh and inviting. I think I might be thirsty.
“Lawson?”
“Huh?”
“How long have you been stranded out here?”
I consider raising my arm to do a sniff test, but I’ve already offended her with the En Vogue reference, and she’s likened me to a Canadian serial killer. I’m thinking I don’t want to do anything else she might consider distasteful or she’ll use those self-defense skills. Unless she’s an actual mirage, in which case the point is moot.
Still, on the off chance she’s real, I should try to act somewhat normal. “Um, I’m not sure, but I’m pretty sweaty, so I’m going to say it’s been a while. Why?”
“Because I called your name four times before you responded.”
“Oh, sorry.” I rub the back of my neck and go with honesty. “I was contemplating whether or not you were a hallucination. It would be just like my subconscious to conjure up a gorgeous woman who actually knows how to fix cars.”
She chuckles and shakes her head. “You’re something else, Lawson.” She straightens and grabs the edge of the hood. “So I have some good news and some bad news. Which would you like first?”
“I guess the bad?”
“All of your spark plugs are shot. I’m surprised this girl is running at all. You also have a crack in your radiator, and I think you’re leaking oil, but I’d have to get under her to be sure, and I don’t have the equipment to do that here.”
I rub the back of my neck again. “There’s some good news in there?”
“I have a friend about fifteen miles down the road in Utah who owns a garage. I can call a tow and we can take your girl there, see what can be done to get her back on the road.”
“Shit. Well, I guess that’s what I get for buying a car without having it safetied first.”
“How long ago did you buy it?”
“Yesterday. I took it for a spin and it ran just fine. I guess this explains why it seemed like a sweet deal.” I saw the car parked on some old man’s front lawn and couldn’t resist stopping. Within hours, I’d bought the car and left my rental behind.
“How long was the spin you took it for?”
“Twenty minutes, give or take.”
She glances at the California plates. “You drove that from California all the way here?”
“Yeah.”
“How far are you planning to go?”
“Long Island.”
Her eyebrows pop. “Did you tell the guy who sold you the car that you’re driving all the way across the country?”
“Uh, I didn’t really think it was relevant?” Although, I suppose I should’ve asked for more clarification, but it’s a cool car, and it seemed like a good deal. I also didn’t feel like spending hours at an airport when I could enjoy the open road instead. Two states later, and the road trip vibe is definitely wearing off.
“Right, okay. Well, I’m not sure you’re gonna make it that far without some serious surgery. I’ll call my friend, then?”
That’s not what I want to hear, but frying in the sun isn’t a viable option. “That’d be great, yeah, thanks.”
She digs her phone out of her back pocket, punches a bunch of buttons, and brings it to her ear. “Hey, Bear, how’s it going?”
She has a friend named Bear? I don’t know what to make of her, and I honestly wish I could figure out why I feel like I’ve met her before. It seems impossible what with her Nevada plates.
Two minutes later, she tosses her phone into her car. “My friend’s sending a tow out. Should be here in about twenty.”
“Great. Thanks a lot.” I swipe my arm across my forehead. I could really use a shower, or a pool, or some air conditioning.
After about thirty seconds of silence, in which we both look around uncomfortably, she thumbs over her shoulder. “You wanna sit in my car while we wait? I’m sweating my tits off, so I gotta imagine it can’t be all that nice for you either.”
“Uh, that’d be great. Thanks. I’m just gonna grab a bottle of water.”
“Good plan. It’s hot enough to fry a steak out here.”
I walk around the side of my car and lean over to grab the bottle of water I left in the center console. It has to be a full twenty degrees hotter inside the car than it is outside. “Fuck,” I mutter when I remember that there are freaking Amalie dolls strapped into the passenger seat.
My dad made an empire out of dolls that look like my younger sister. At least they started out looking like her. She’s essentially a much more proportional human version of a Barbie doll. Now they come with every conceivable hair color and skin tone possible.
You can have them made to look exactly like your kid. We have girl and boy dolls with customized clothing options. There’s even an interactive app. I’m in charge of the social media for the dolls, which means I spend a lot of time dressing them up and posing them for pictures.
It sounds pretty lame.
Which is why I dabble in real estate on the side. And buying classic cars on a whim. Based on how that’s going so far, I think I’ll stick with real estate.
I’m also aware that it looks really fucking weird to have a couple of dolls meant for six year olds riding shotgun in my car. I unbuckle the seat belt, toss them in the back, and shrug out of my super sweaty shirt. I grab my spare, which is draped over the back of the passenger seat, and the bottle of water.
I shrug into my dry shirt and fasten a single button. I can’t believe how freaking hot it is. It’s like living on the underside of a nut sack in a sauna.
My flip-flops slap the pavement, sticking a little with each step, as if they’re halfway to melting. I slide into the passenger seat of Nevah’s car and sigh when a blast of cold air hits my sweaty face and chest.
“Did the guy who sold you his car also sell you that shirt?” Nevah’s eyebrows lift above her sunglasses.
I run a hand down the patterned fabric. It’s an ocean blue Hawaiian print with penguins surfing waves. It’s meant to go with our Amalie Summer Beach campaign. The bright colors are eye-catching and do well in Instagram photos. “If I say no, are you going to make a comment about ransacking my grandfather’s closet?”
“I don’t have to anymore since you just did.” She grabs a water bottle from the backseat, unscrews the cap, and drains the entire thing in three long swallows.
“Wow. You must kick some serious ass at keg stand challenges.”
“It was probably my favorite subject in college, and consequently the reason I never graduated.” She waves a hand around in the air, as if she’s erasing her words. “Anyway, Lawson, tell me why you’re driving across the country if you’re not on the run?”
“Uh, well, I had some business in California I had to take care of and I have a couple of stops on the way back home to Long Island, so I figured instead of flying I’d buy a car and bring it back home and fix it up.”
“Just like that, huh?”
“Just like that. Although I’m starting to think my plan is flawed.”
She holds her fingers half an inch apart. “Maybe a little.”
We make small talk while we wait for the tow truck to show up and I keep trying to figure out why she’s so damn familiar.
When the tow arrives, I assume she’s going to leave, but instead, she offers to follow the tow truck to the garage.
“You’ve already gone out of your way to help me, I can just ride in the truck.” I motion to the burly, pot-bellied chain-smoking man currently giving us an excellent view of his ass crack as he secures my beautiful, broken car. Nevah leans over and pops the glove box. She grabs a small baggie, stuffs it into her back pocket, and calls out, “You bring your girl with you, Kenny?”
“Sure did, Nev,” he shouts back.
“You mind if I say hi?”
“Go for it.”
Nevah struts over to the passenger side of the tow truck, glancing briefly over her shoulder at me, while smirking. She whistles and calls out, “Princess, you keeping Kenny in line?” A giant Bull Mastiff’s head pokes out of the passenger side window, tongue lolling as soon as the dog spots Nevah. She barks once and a long string of drool drips slowly from her jowls to the ground.
Nevah pulls the baggie from her back pocket, retrieves a treat, and places it carefully on the end of the dog’s nose. Princess waits until she’s given the signal before she flips the treat off her nose and catches it with her giant tongue.
“I think you’re better off riding with me. Princess isn’t big on sharing her seat.” Nevah gives me a wink.
I stand awkwardly off to the side while she and Kenny discuss who should take me to the garage. He seems concerned about her welfare. I’m more concerned about Princess taking a bite out of me should I have to ride in Kenny’s truck. Or the possibility that I’m being duped and these two are black market organ thieves and they’re driving me to my demise. I really hope not.
