Boy Issues - Morticia Knight Page 0,1

“Look, man. I’m not gonna jump you or anything. I came over to see if I could help.” He held out his hand. “My name is Silver. Silver Cruz.”

The stranger seemed frozen where he stood, but then something must have clicked in his brain, because he stepped forward and accepted Silver’s offer.

“Donovan Fonterra. Pleased to meet you.”

Silver gave him a smirk while accepting Donovan’s offer. “You sure about that?”

Donovan chuckled. “I am. I apologize for my…” He brushed his hair back again, the action striking Silver as being a nervous habit more than Donovan’s concern over his appearance. “Uh, rude behavior.” Donovan indicated to his vehicle. “I was mortified that my car broke down so late in this awful neigh—” He pinched the bridge of his nose then rose his head with a sigh. “I should probably shut up now.”

Silver arched his eyebrows and snorted. “I wouldn’t say awful. Questionable, yes—if I had to give it a label.” He shrugged. “But if you’re interested in areas that well-dressed men with visible gold jewelry and killer wheels shouldn’t break down in, I can make you a list.”

“I… Look. I can be a real asshole.” He grunted, speaking so low Silver could barely pick up his words. “Runs in the family.” Donovan shook his head as if clearing his thoughts. “Anyway, I apologize again.” He gave Silver a hopeful smile. “Twice in less than three minutes. Possibly a new record for me.”

The exhaustion Silver had been battling at the end of his shift began to resurface with a vengeance. Banter and sparring with words wore him out on the best of days, and he sensed that this nervous, tightly wound mess of a guy used those tactics as his primary form of communication. He didn’t care to engage any longer.

Silver pointed to the car’s engine. “Want me to take a look?”

Mister Nervous Pants shifted from foot to foot as he rubbed the back of his neck. Silver wondered if he was terrified of allowing someone—who he likely viewed as lesser than—touching his precious collector car.

“Is… Have you ever…?” He cleared his throat. “What I mean, is that this is a very specific type of vehicle. Needs a gentle touch. Someone who…understands the intricacies of performance cars.”

“Jesus. You’re not kidding.” Silver sauntered over to the car then glancing over his shoulder before leaning down to check the engine. “You really are an asshole.”

“No argument there. But, do you know anything about… Well…”

Silver kept his gaze trained on the gorgeous engine, drinking in the beauty of a well-maintained car. Nothing like the junk heaps Silver’s boss at the garage expected him to restore to their former glory.

“Do I know anything about classic sports cars? Finish your sentences. It makes communicating so much easier.”

“Again, I apologize. I was just trying not to insult you again.”

Silver still wouldn’t meet Donovan’s gaze. “Too late.” Silver had spotted the Lamborghini’s issue almost right away, but had remained hunched over the vehicle to enjoy a few minutes of engine porn. He reattached a loose wire to the distributor cap then straightened, locking eyes with Donovan. “It should be fine now. Why don’t you try turning her over to be certain?”

Donovan blinked several times, regarded the car as if it had something to say, then returned his attention to Silver. “Oh. Uh, sure.”

Silver gently closed the hood as Donovan lowered himself into the driver’s seat, Silver’s touch on the shiny metal almost a caress as the tips of his fingers danced across the surface. He took a step back onto the curb and waited, his heart thumping a few ticks faster at the anticipation of the engine’s purr. He didn’t imagine he’d be disappointed, judging from how clean the guts of the sexy machine had been.

The Lamborghini rumbled to life, the low growl of the motor smoothly building to a satisfying idle, the sound hitting Silver square in the groin. “Fuck me,” he whispered to himself. What he wouldn’t give to own such a magnificent beast. Actually, he didn’t even have to own it. Partial custody would be fine, maybe drive it for a few hours on the weekend.

Silver expected Donovan to wave a ‘thank you’ at him while peeling away as though Silver were the devil in the flesh. Instead, he turned off the car then climbed back out. Silver frowned, but then figured Donovan felt obligated to give him a tip or something. That’s how people of Donovan’s ilk typically operated.

“Wow,” Donovan said as he approached. Silver was