Chapter 1

Alexis

ARG! What a day! I toss my bag across the truck cab in frustration, and clamber in after it. The sound of the door's metallic clash as it closes hard behind me is cathartic.

"Alex! Get back your ass back here! You haven't finished putting the new transmission in that Explorer yet!"

"Damn it, Ray!" I yell back at him through the open windows. "Do it yourself if it's that important! I was on call last night and I covered for you all day!"

Ray saunters up to the truck's driver's side window right as I start the old diesel engine up. The old tow truck may look uncared for, but the engine was well-tended. I saw to that. Ray frowns at me, his face already trying to plead me into staying.

I calm at his expression—he knew exactly how to manipulate me—but not today, "No. Ray, I'm tired, I'm dirty, and I've worked over eighteen hours straight. You got wasted last night, you were hung-over most of the day. You're up, you're capable ... fix the fucking Explorer yourself!"

I blanch at the expression on Ray's face, he hates it when I curse. He's always trying to turn me into a proper lady. Rather than wait for his overreaction, I shift the truck into gear and drive off.

It takes only a few minutes to reach my little apartment. With my bag in tow, I ran inside and encountered a 'Catastrophe'.

"Fucking hell, Catherine!" I scream.

No answer. ARG! What a day! First Ray, now my roommate has half her wardrobe scattered over our tiny apartment living room. Underwear, bras, and all manner of slinky delicates are hung, slung, and drying. I'd have to bob and weave just to get to the hallway. I know I'm covered in oil, grease, and grime. The only thing that could make this worse would be the look on Cat's face if she found her precious delicates soiled and stained.

I take a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "Only one thing can solve this," I decide. I drop the truck keys in the key bowl we have by the door, and grab the only other set in the bowl. There are only three keys on the ring, along with a keychain featuring the classic silhouetted 'mudflap girl' wearing a cowboy hat. I'd gotten the funny keychain from the shop, someone had left it in a junker.

I grin at it after picking it up, and the sultry girl wearing the cowboy hat in the back of my mind tips her hat up with a single finger. Gripping the keys, I back out of the apartment and circle around to the back of the property.

The apartment I shared with Cat was really just an old roadside motel that had been converted into a half-dozen apartments. Passing by the old lobby, I wave at Arthur inside. The old man had bought this place two decades ago and done all the work in the conversion to apartments himself. He now served as landlord, handyman, and friend, all-in-one. He also let me rent the garage behind the apartments for a pittance. Most days, like today, he spends the afternoon sitting in the old lobby watching baseball on TV and enjoying the view of the woods on the other side of the highway through the lobby's glass wall.

Wading through the unkempt lot of weeds and wild grasses behind the building, I lift the garage door open and smile at my baby. She is a 2003 Toyota MR2 Spyder.

She was my 'rescue.' Some drunk Houston housewife driving up Highway 59 had rolled her in the middle of the night eight years ago. Ray had been drunk, and 'Happy Ray' had offered her as a birthday present. He really couldn't afford to give her to me like that, but I'd jumped at the offer anyway—what fifteen year old grease monkey in desperate need of her own car wouldn't take advantage?

It had taken me nearly all of those six years to get her up to par. I'd replaced the wimpy stock engine with a damaged Supercharged 2ZZ-GE Toyota engine from a Lotus Exige, replaced the blown oil pump, repaired the damage, and a few other aftermarket parts here and there. Since Ray was out cold most of the time, trading with other auto-parts dealers online garnered me replacement body parts. I did all the work in my spare time, and I'd been very careful to never let Ray get a good look at her. Drunk 'Happy Ray' would probably tell me how proud he was of me and want to take it for a drive ... straight into a tree. Hung-over Ray would probably accuse me of stealing money and parts from him.

All the extra work and effort meant I had turned a thoroughly thrashed car with 140 horsepower into a sleek little convertible with almost 250 horsepower. She was my prize possession.

The other advantage of this garage was the dirty old bathroom in the back. I didn't really like using it. Even though I had cleaned it multiple times, the porcelain was stained brown in places, the fixtures were rusted, and the tile was cracked and stained. It just looked dirty. When I was covered in grease and I knew Cat was home, I'd usually clean up in here first before coming in the apartment. She always frowned at me like the oil and grime was going to jump off of me onto the walls of the apartment.

I turn on the shower and strip off my coveralls, followed by my fairly clean t-shirt and shorts. I look down and feel that familiar twinge of embarrassment. My inner sexy gives me a sad look and shakes her head, but the shy one just looks as embarrassed as I feel.

My usual plain and sturdy utilitarian bras were dirty, so I'd worn one of the 'pretty' bra and panties sets Cat bought for me. Actually, my usual plain bras and underwear were probably hanging amongst all frilly lace, satin, and silk that had exploded all over our living room. Cat always insisted, "Delicates must be treated as such, Lexi."

Stripping off the pink satin hipster boyshorts and matching bra, I finger the white lace edging. As much as these ... slutty underwear make me feel ... dirty, they're also pretty comfortable. And they do make me feel feminine—I'm just not sure I want to feel feminine. And having them off doesn't help the flushed embarrassment I feel.

Once I've jumped into the steaming shower and have my eyes closed, thoughts of my chubby awkward body fade away. I only open my eyes to run a scrub brush against my and blackened fingers. Of all my tomboy traits, this is the one Cat just can't abide. At least once a day I hear her 'tsk-tsk' aimed at my oil-stained hands. They've been that way since I was nine and started learning all about engines from Ray.

Clean of most the grime, and smelling of pomegranate and lemon Dove body wash, I blush again as I consider putting on the 'pretty panties' again. Ignoring the excited mischievous smile the sultry one grins from under the brim of her hat, I leave the underwear on the floor of the bathroom, just slipping on my slightly dirty t-shirt and shorts. I leave my work boots as well, and slip on the pair of old Reeboks I keep out here. Putting my hair back in its usual simple ponytail, I'm done.

I toss my bag—I've never thought of it as a purse—in the passenger seat and slide into my baby. I had to admit, at least the drunk who'd crashed her ad opted for the faux-leather interior. It was still plush and comfortable, and I love it. I plug in the key, pump the clutch in, and the engine purrs.

My iPod starts blasting the girlish voice of Cassadee Pope as Hey Monday grinds out the upbeat pop-punk of "Set Off," and I slide on my sunglasses. The minute the sun hits my face and the wind takes my hair, I'm immediately free of the anger and frustration I'd been feeling all day. I know exactly where I'm going, and I know the exact route I'm taking.

When my mom died, she had very little to leave to her only daughter, but it was something. Her parents old house and property on the north shore of Lake Livingston. It had been run down and unlivable when my mom was alive, or she probably would have sold it. It's only been the last few years that I'd started to fix it up—which also pissed Ray off.

We found out when I turned eighteen that my mom had a lot more squirreled away than we previously thought. Tom Wilkins, her Lufkin attorney handled her estate, and part of that had been a secret trust set up by her late parents in my name, one that she had even added to over the years. The money was mine to use as I chose, and it added up to enough to pay for college. But I pissed Ray off by choosing to fuel the money into the old house.

It wasn't enough to afford a team of workers who would have the whole thing done in six months, but it was enough to make it a do-it-yourself project in most areas. Ray hated that I wasn't pursuing art school, but I just kept telling him, "It's my life, Ray."

So that's where I was headed, the old house. When I had a load of lumber or something to haul, I took the truck down Highway 59 and then skirted down Highway 190 to the property. But when I drive my baby, I take the back roads that curve back and forth through the forest, usually well above the speed limit.

Within minutes, I'm out of town and on an abandoned road, pushing eighty in the curves and breaking a hundred whenever I can straighten the car out. My iPod stereo system is blaring, the sun is beating down on me, and the wind is whipping my hair behind me. For almost an hour, I'm just as happy as can be.

That is, until I have to slam on the brakes! "WHAT THE HELL!?" I yell.

My baby's brakes are highly responsive though, letting out only a little high-pitched chirp. The tires however, make a half-screech, half-gravely sliding sound as I put the agile little beast into a controlled slide. I'm only sliding for a second though before I let off the brakes and turn the wheel, jerking the car back across the faded yellow line and come to a stop right alongside the rusty Ford Escort.

Fuck! Six inches closer and I would have run him over! He didn't pull the car off the road at all, just stopped right on his side of the road and crawled under the car. What the hell is he doing under the car like that?! It's just a flat tire!

I turn down "Crazy" and sigh, "Sorry about that, I drive this road all the time. This is the first time I've actually seen another living soul out here."

Jonathan

ARG! What a day! I almost wish I'd bought a more reliable car, but I really couldn't afford a better one. I only bought this car this morning, and already it's giving me lip. The car didn't look like much at all, and the price was only representative of the new engine the dealer had put in it. Hell, the dealer had insisted I take a look under the hood, and the engine practically looked like it belonged in a shiny new floor-model, not this rust-bucket.

I sighed, and whisper to myself, "I can't really blame this on him—it's not like the engine caused a flat tire."

I'm lying flat on my back trying to figure out where to put the fucking jack when I hear the roar of an oncoming engine. "Fuck," I mutter a few seconds later as I realize the car is coming very fast, and I'm in the middle of the road.

I move as quickly as I can, pulling my legs up and trying to slide sideways at the same time, but by the time I begin moving, I hear the squelch of the brakes biting too hard and skidding tires. Two seconds later, my heart starts beating again, and I'm not really sure how I feel about that. It would have been simpler to just die of a heart attack out here in the middle of nowhere, I think.

The blare of Aerosmith quiets, and voice with just the hint of a sweet Texas twang says, "Sorry about that, I drive this road all the time. This is the first time I've actually seen another living soul out here."

"No harm ... no foul ... thanks," I am panting for air as my body deals with the rush of adrenaline.

She snorts, "What for?"

"Turning down ... Steven Tyler," I chuckle.

"Seriously? Who doesn't like Aerosmith?" she laughs incredulously.

"Just me, I suppose."

She turns off the engine and I hear her shoes on the cracked and gravely pavement. She's right, this road is pretty much forgotten. I slide back into the position I was in earlier and start trying to figure out where the jack goes again.