Page 14 of Fletch

“You can’t fix it?” She sounds disappointed.

“I didn’t say that. I’m a good mechanic, I can fix anything, but it’s an old car and probably not worth putting the new parts in. For what you’ll spend, you could get a new car.”

“Really?”

“Gem, it ain’t worth shit. Scrap it, you’ll make more.”

She sighs heavily. “I can’t do that. It’s sentimental.”

“A car?” I ask, laughing. “Take a picture, it’ll last longer and cost nothing.”

“Is that about the car?” barks a man’s voice. It’s harsh, and she doesn’t even answer before he’s clearly taken the phone from her. “Hi, I’m Gemma’s husband. If you’re feeding her some crap about fixing that heap of junk, save it.”

“Actually,” I say, frowning, “I was just telling her it’s not worth spending the money on it.”

“Right,” he mutters. “Well, good. We’ve had enough mechanics rip her off. She’s holding on to it for dear life, and it’s time she let it go.”

“I’m right here,” I hear her mutter.

“So, scrap it,” he continues.

“Pete,” she screeches, “give me the phone.”

“I’ll handle it, Gem.”

“Actually, sir,” I say clearly, “your wife is the customer, so I’ll need to speak to her about it. And I’m not a scrap man. You’ll need to arrange that yourself.”

Gemma comes back onto the line. “Sorry about that. Are you in the garage now?”

“Just about to head that way,” I tell her. “You want me to pick you up?”

“Erm . . .” She’s hesitant, and I imagine it’s because her fiancé is nearby. “Same place as before?”

“Miller’s Barn?”

“Yep, great. Thank you.” It reminds me of our secret conversations when she was younger and didn’t want her father to overhear. I disconnect and head out to my bike.

I slow outside the bar, where she’s standing waiting. She eyes the bike as I hand her the spare helmet. “I’ve never . . .” I take the helmet from her and push it on her head, pulling her closer so I can fasten the chin strap.

“Climb on,” I order, and she slides on behind me. “Feet there,” I say, tapping her ankles and guiding them to the footrests. “Hold on and move with me.” Her hands grab my kutte, and I smirk, taking them and tugging them until she’s so close, I can feel her heat at my back. “Hold on,” I repeat, revving the engine and turning back out into traffic.

It’s a short ride to the garage but one of my best so far. Having Gemma this close, clinging to me, makes me hotter for her. The fact she’s engaged to that cock makes things worse. My want is becoming a need.

We climb off, and she follows me to the office. I unlock it, and we go inside. “Nice to hear he’s changed.”

“Huh?”

“Your fiancé,” I say, lifting the partition and stepping behind the counter.

“Oh,” she gives a small laugh, “he just hates that car.”

“It’s a death trap, and I agree it needs scrapping.”

She folds her arms over her chest. “It was my first car,” she admits. “I know it’s stupid to get attached, but I got it with my first wage from the force.”

“Snap, I know your father is loaded, so why did you buy that heap?”

“I’d never ask him for anything,” she mutters. “But you’re right, I know you are, so I’ll get a scrap man to collect it.”