What's summer without a little romance down by the beach?
Unfortunately, Kendra's car dies the minute she arrives in Ocean City, and love is the last thing on her mind. No money, no parents to save her, and now no car, which she needs for her new summer job. Her summer is ruined, and she knows no one’s going to ride in on a white horse to save her.
Jim is no white knight—he’s a hard working mechanic who’s been too busy to find time for love. Until love walks into his shop with a broken down Honda. He may not have a white horse, but he does have a motorcycle, and that may be all they need to get the motor running...
My beat up Honda and I were only in town for the summer, but I almost didn’t make it across the bridge into Ocean City, because when I say “beat up,” what I mean is “beat to hell and barely rolling.”
The gig had been contingent on having a car, and I was afraid of losing my cushy beachside summer if I showed up without my wheels. But I’d almost made it when everything started to smoke, sputter, and scream. Every warning light was on when I pulled into the service station parking lot. Then the stupid thing coughed and quit.
I accused my car of all kinds of unlikely sexual proclivities. I wasn’t going to get paid for another two weeks, and I’d already spent the last night of my cross-country trip sleeping in the car, just so I could afford to eat until payday. There was no money for repairs and no one I could call for help. I had a lot of friends, but they were artsy-fartsy types like me, and all my age. Borrowing fifty bucks from such associates was a big deal, and that one screamy noise my car had made sounded like it had three digits rattling around in its throat.
People think having no parents makes life uncomplicated. But even criminals can make one phone call and get someone to bail them out. Me, not so much.
This summer was going to suck. I started swearing again and kicking the bumper.
It turned out my diatribe didn’t go unheard.
“I didn’t know girls knew about that one.” The speaker leaned against the wall while he wiped his hands on a rag.
“I’ve probably done it more times than you have.” Then I took a closer look.
He was tall and young and he had brown, curly hair bleached nearly blond on top by the sun. His shirt stretched a little too tight across a set of shoulders so broad I could have built a house on them. I wanted to imagine the way his abs looked. I didn’t have to imagine his biceps, since those cut and sculpted items were right there in front of my face. His face had a strong jaw, a long, straight nose, and little square wire-rimmed glasses over his slate gray eyes that sparkled when he returned my appreciative glance.
This summer might not be so bad after all…