The Fast and The Furious: Tokyo Drift (Han/OFC fanfic)

Motivation

The next morning Bobbie showed up at the garage a little after nine and after gathering all the tools she would need for her labour, started on fixing up the Nissan. Han was more than impressed with her enthusiasm, but knew it was more her determination to get one over on him that was pushing her on to repair the Mona Lisa. She wanted to race the car and if she could get it running about as perfect as it once had, how could he refuse her?

She had been working for an hour solid, no conversation, no music playing, nothing; and Han had made the most of the quiet by sorting through paperwork and making calls. After another ten minutes he decided he needed a break from deals and figures. He rubbed a hand over his face and leaned back in the chair, stretching his arms up over his head. He wasn't used to not being interrupted a dozen or so times throughout the working day, usually by Reiko and Earl, who seemed to love dragging him into their bickering even when he refused to get involved. He had to admit that the peace and quiet was kind of nice. Usually the stereo was blasting out Japanese or American hip hop, but all he could hear was the whirr of the AC and the clinking of tools. Every now and then Bobbie would curse under her breath, which was followed up by whatever tool she'd been using bouncing off the concrete floor.

He got up out of the chair and wandered over to the railing. She was bent over the engine, tight jeans smeared with grease tucked into flat biker-style boots, and the racer t-shirt she wore clinging to her torso like a second skin. Her hair had been hastily clipped up, practicality winning out over trend, but as the morning wore on it had slowly worked its way loose and Han didn't think he'd seen a hotter sight his whole life.

Her tanned skin was glistening with a sheen of moisture, and little droplets of sweat rolled down her chest, disappearing into the scooped neck of her shirt, drawing his attention to her breasts. She brought up an oil-smeared hand and wiped the back of it over her brow. Just a regular thing, but it had those images zipping through his head again. He silently groaned. What was going on with him? He couldn't remember when he'd ever been this fascinated by a woman. He could have any chick he wanted, so why was he so worked up over this one? He'd wanted to kiss her and he had, so that should have been the end of it. Only it had left him wanting more. All he could think about was getting her in his bed and not letting her leave for a week.

Maybe longer.

Wandering over to the small fridge in the lounge area he took out a bottle of water, grabbed his snacks from the desk and made his way down to the garage floor. Bobbie was absorbed in her work and paid him no attention; and he couldn't help but appreciate the curve of her shapely behind. He could see the tattoo on the back of her neck, but still couldn't work out what the markings were or what the script said. He was going to have to get a lot closer. The thought made him smirk. He silently moved up behind her and grabbed at her side. She yelped and spun around brandishing the wrench in her hand.

"Whoa!" Han shrank back and held up his hands. "I come in peace."

"What the hell, Han?" she complained. "You almost had this wrench rammed down your throat!"

"Colorful way of putting it," he chuckled and held out the bottle of water.

"Thanks," she said accepting it. "What do you expect scaring people like that? Jesus."

"It was fun," he said with a smirk.

Bobbie couldn't hold back her smile. "Jackass." She unscrewed the cap and took a long drink of the ice-cold water.

Han watched her throat work and needing a distraction - and fast - popped a Ritz Bitz. "How's it coming?" he asked nodding at the Nissan's engine.

Bobbie held out a hand. He casually dropped a couple of the snacks into her palm. She popped one into her mouth. "I've reinstalled the intake manifold. That's probably why she kept spitting. She had a dent on the finder, too." She pointed it out to him and he cursed.