STORY EXCERPT

Greta leaned forward, gripping the back of my seat. “Ollie, I showed my grandson your picture. He thinks you’re cute.”

“Miss Greta, we’ve discussed this. Your grandson is still in high school.” I stopped at a red light, watching two men use the crosswalk. One guy was wearing a hot pink pleated mini skirt and black chunky boots. His sunglasses were too large for his face and he had a riot of bracelets on one wrist.

“He’s a senior. Very mature,” Greta said as the light turned green.

“Still illegal.”

“You’re no fun.”

“I’m very fun. Ask anyone. Just not anyone who wants me to commit a felony.”

Artie adjusted his navy blazer, the one with gold buttons that looked like they’d been liberated from a yacht club. Tufts of hair sprouted from his ears like tiny antennae, picking up signals from the ladies’-man dimension he believed he inhabited. “When I was your age, I had three girlfriends.”

“At the same time?” Edith asked, clutching her coupon binder.

Artie held up a finger. “Consecutively. But they overlapped.”

“That’s the same thing, Arthur.”

“Semantics.” He winked, maybe. His eyelids drooped, so I couldn’t be sure if it had been a wink or further sagging.

The shuttle lurched halfway down Route 12. Not a gentle bump, but a full-body convulsion that made everyone grab for something to hold on to. Then came the sound. A metallic screech followed by a death rattle that belonged in a horror movie.

“What was that?” Irene asked, lavender-manicured nails digging into her armrest.

“Nothing good.” I eased off the gas, but the shuttle was already making the decision for me.

Power drained like someone had pulled the plug. The shuttle coasted to the shoulder, hazard lights blinking their pathetic little confession to the world.

Dead. Completely, utterly dead.

“Well,” Walter said, “this is inconvenient.”

I turned the key. Nothing. Tried again. The engine responded with a click so faint it might’ve been my imagination.

“Everyone okay?” I asked, twisting in my seat to do a head count. Five seniors, all accounted for, all staring at me with varying degrees of concern and annoyance.

“Define okay,” Greta said. “Because I have book club in an hour, and Brenda will steal my seat if I’m late.”

“Your seat isn’t assigned.”

“It is in my heart.”

Pulling out my phone, I dialed the office. Maureen answered on the third ring, her voice carrying a mix of exhausted patience that came from managing a senior transportation service.

“Speed Escapades, this is Maureen.”

“Hey, it’s Ollie. The shuttle just died. We’re on Route 12, about halfway to the senior center.”

A pause. Typing in the background. “Define died.”

“It made a noise like it was gargling nails then gave up on life. The shuttle won’t start. It won’t do anything except sit here looking sad.”

“Passengers?”

I glanced in the rearview mirror like one of the seniors might’ve evaporated since the last head count. “Five. All present, all getting restless.”

“I’ll send a tow truck. Sit tight.”

“Do I have a choice?” I should’ve called her the moment I’d heard the noises. If I had, we would’ve been in town with shops and civilization instead of being stuck on a back road with nothing but open fields on either side of us.

“Not unless you want to push a shuttle full of seniors down Route 12.”

“Tempting, but no.” As hot as it was outside, I’d drown in my own sweat after ten steps. Besides, I couldn’t have pushed the shuttle with my skinny arms even with a running start and unrealistic hope.

She hung up. I pocketed my phone and turned back to my audience. “Help’s on the way.”

“How long?” Edith asked.

“Maureen didn’t specify. Soon, hopefully,” I said, already fanning myself.

“Technology,” she muttered. “In my day, vehicles were built to last. Now everything’s computers and planned obsolescence.”

I twisted my lips to the side as the overhead sun made things hotter. “This shuttle is from 2006, Miss Edith. It predates most modern technology.”

“Exactly. Should still be running.”

I couldn’t argue with that logic, mostly because it didn’t follow any actual logic. There was nowhere to go from there. She had constructed another Edith Logic Loop.

Instead, I climbed out to pop the hood. Maybe I could spot something obvious. Probably not, since my mechanical knowledge topped out at “gas goes in the tank,” but standing around looking useful beat sitting inside while everyone debated the merits of vintage engineering.

The hood released with a metallic groan, and I stared down at the engine like it might confess its sins if I looked stern enough. Wires. Tubes. Metal bits that probably had names. Nothing obviously broken, but then again, I wouldn’t know a broken engine part if it introduced itself.

Traffic hummed past on the country road. Hot asphalt smell mixed with something burning.

Probably the shuttle’s dying breath.

Sweat trickled down my back. Late summer in all its miserable glory, and here I was playing mechanic with an audience of seniors watching through the windshield like I was about to roll up my sleeves and rebuild a transmission on Route 12.

Twenty minutes crawled by. Long enough for Walter to complain about his dentures three more times, for Greta to suggest we call her grandson to pick us up—absolutely not—and for Artie to wonder aloud if the tow truck driver would be a woman.

Odds were low, but hope springs eternal in the heart of a seventy-seven-year-old in a blazer.

Then I heard it. The rumble of a diesel engine, deep and powerful, growing louder as it approached. A tow truck rounded the bend, red and chrome catching the sunlight, Deluca’s Auto Repair painted on the side in white letters.

The truck pulled up behind us, air brakes hissing. Then the driver’s door opened, and a man climbed out.

Not just a man. A mountain wearing a leather vest.

Easily six-four, maybe taller, with shoulders broad enough to carry the weight of the shuttle. Dark hair cropped short, blue eyes that caught the light like a predators, and arms that looked like they could bench-press the shuttle without breaking a sweat.

A chain hung from his belt loop to his back pocket, glinting with each step he took toward me.

My brain went offline. Just completely shut down, packed its bags, and went on vacation. Somewhere tropical. Somewhere that didn’t involve standing on the side of a road trying to remember how words worked.

I imagined him on that tropical beach with my vacationing brain, sun glistening off all those muscles, his skin wet from the ocean, and now all I wanted to do was lick those droplets off his naked, heated body.

I blinked, forcing myself to focus. On the present. Not the mountain I wanted to climb like a horny cat. I had no idea men came in that size, then snorted at the “came” pun.

ADULT EXCERPT

Ollie

Diesel set aside the paintings as soon as we walked into my house. I couldn’t believe how alive I felt right now. Gerald should consider himself lucky that Diesel grabbed me. No one talked smack about my man. Adrenaline coursed through my veins, making my hands shake. The encounter at the paint class had my entire body buzzing like I’d chugged five energy drinks. I couldn’t stand still, pacing back and forth in my living room.

“Someone’s wound up,” Diesel said, watching me closely.

“I was ready to fight him.” The words tumbled out fast and breathless. “I’ve never wanted to hit someone that badly in my entire life. Gerald’s stupid smug face and his stupid perfect painting and—”

“You defended me.” Something soft entered his expression. “My hero.”

I couldn’t help the grin that spread across my mouth. Raising my arms, I flexed, showing off biceps that were decent but nothing compared to the mountains Diesel was packing. “Damn right. Nobody messes with my man.”

His laugh was downright gorgeous. “You know what’s good for getting rid of adrenaline?”

“What?”

Diesel’s eyebrows lifted twice in quick succession, and the heat in his gaze made my mouth go dry.

“Oh.” My voice came out in a tiny squeak. “Oh.”

Crossing the distance between us, I grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the bedroom. He came willingly, his laughter following us down the hallway. The warm sound wrapped around me, chasing away the last remnants of anger.

“Been too long,” I said, shoving open the bedroom door.

Turning to face him, I barely had time to register his expression before his mouth was on mine. The kiss was hungry, demanding, and I opened for him immediately. His tongue swept inside, tasting like whiskey and something darker that made my knees weak.

My hands found his leather vest, gripping the material while his palms settled on my hips. The pressure was firm, grounding, pulling me closer until no space remained between our bodies. His cock pressed against my hip, already hard, and I ground against him, needing more friction, more contact, more everything.

“Bed,” Diesel murmured against my lips.

“Couch has deep cushions,” I teased, breathless.

“Bed’s got room to move.” He cupped my ass and gave me a rough squeeze that made me moan. “Trust me.”

Walking backward toward the bed, I pulled him with me, unwilling to break the kiss for longer than it took to breathe. My calves hit the mattress, and I sat with a bounce.

Diesel lowered to his knees. My fingers worked the buttons of his vest, shoving the leather off his shoulders. It hit the floor with a soft thump. Next came his shirt, and I yanked it over his head with more excitement than grace. Tattoos covered his torso, dark ink that begged to be traced with my tongue.

My hands explored the planes of his stomach, following the ridges of muscle down to where they disappeared into his jeans.

His fingers found the hem of my shirt and pulled it up. Cool air hit my skin, followed immediately by the heat of his palms as they roamed across my ribs, my sides, my back. Every touch left fire in its wake, building pressure low in my stomach that demanded release.

“Want you,” I rasped, voice catching on the raw need.

“You’ve got me.” He pressed his mouth to my throat, teeth grazing that hot pulse point. “What do you want to do with me?”

“Everything,” I panted, mind drowning under the weight of his touch. “I want to taste you. I want your cock in my mouth.”

Diesel pulled back, his blue eyes dark and focused. “Is that so?”

“God, yes.” My fingers fumbled at his belt buckle. “Let me.”

He undid my belt with rough efficiency before popping the button of his jeans and yanking the zipper down. The denim gaped open, exposing those tight black boxer briefs that clung to his bulge like a second skin, leaving nothing to the imagination. My mouth flooded with saliva at the sight.

Diesel didn’t waste time. He stood and shoved both jeans and underwear down his powerful thighs in one fluid motion. His cock sprang free, thick and veiny and already weeping at the tip. Magnificent. The sheer perfection of him standing there, in my bedroom, letting me have my way with him... it crashed over me like a wave.

I slid off the bed and dropped to my knees on the plush carpet, positioning myself right where I wanted to be. Face to face with his massive erection. Up close, every detail was magnified, the throbbing vein running along the underside, the engorged head flushed a deep purple, the glistening bead of pre-cum welling at the slit.

I leaned in and dragged my tongue from base to tip, savoring the salty tang of his skin and the musky scent of pure male arousal. The taste exploded across my tongue, better than any memory. Diesel’s fingers tangled in my hair, not pulling, just gripping, like he needed something to hold onto.

“You look so fucking hot on your knees,” Diesel growled, his voice rough with need.

“Haven’t even started yet,” I murmured, my breath ghosting over his sensitive skin.

“Don’t need to. Seeing you like this—” He cut himself off, jaw clenching tight. “Suck me. Now.”