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.
"Shit." He felt around the dent to see how bad it really was. It was smoothed over, almost invisible. About as perfect as it was likely to get. "I didn't see that before. What'd you do to it?"
"Fixed it," she said. Her teasing derisive tone made him turn his head. She gave him a smug smile and bobbed her eyebrows at him.
"No shit, Sherlock," he said.
"I'm what some people call brilliant," she said in a matter of a fact way. "But in all seriousness I used my super fast speed and when you weren't looking, boom, flicked it," she added gesturing with her fingers.
"You've a comeback for everything. Where'd you learn all this stuff anyway?"
"Oh, my dad," she said with a gentle smile. "He didn't get much free time but when he did he loved fixing up 'rust buckets' as mom used to call them. I loved watching him. He taught me everything I know."
"You guys were close?" he asked, seeming genuinely interested.
Bobbie took a deep breath and nodded. "It was just him and me for a long time," she said choosing her words carefully. "Mom died when I was twelve and after that he kind of lost interest in most things, me and him fixing up cars for one."
"That's tough," Han mused. "I'm sorry about your mom."
She nibbled on her bottom lip and nodded a little. "It was a long time ago. I worked through it. I just started doing my own thing with cars. Kept me out of dad's way, I guess." She paused to collect her thoughts. They were always muddled when it came to her parents. "What about you? Who taught you about cars?"
"My old man got me started on them but he took off when I turned thirteen," he said, leaning against the car. "I still hung around garages though, and in high school I hooked up with some guys that were into cars. Eventually met Toretto. I was a hotshot, thought I knew everything. He gave me a reality check," he revealed with a grin. "Ran with his crew for a while, until it all went south and I came here."
It was the most he had ever revealed about himself and Bobbie was fascinated, mostly because he was impossible to figure out and it was frustrating. Everything she had asked him over the last few days he had given only vague answers to, not explaining anything in detail. It was almost as if he didn't want her to know anything about him. And then this. She tilted her head, examining him closely and it made him smile.
"What?"
"Nothing," she shrugged. She turned away and took another drink of water. But he was onto her. He was that good at reading her. Or maybe he was just that good in general.
"I don't have a problem talking about my past, Bobbie," he said. "But details are irrelevant. I'm here now and that's all that matters. Better to leave the past behind," he concluded.
She looked at him. "I wasn't saying anything."
"You were thinking it."
"That a problem?"
"Nope." He casually shrugged. "I like that you're curious about me."
"Right back at you."
"Difference is if you don't want to share then I wouldn't force it," he said, remembering the night on the roof and the troubled look in her eyes.
"Excuse me, but I didn't ask you to tell me what you just did."
"I thought it was a good time to share."
Bobbie just smiled and shook her head. "You always been this way?"
"And what way's that?" he asked, dark eyes twinkling. "Handsome, sexy, successful..."
"Arrogant."
His grin widened. When he moved closer to her it wasn't his imagination that she drew in a breath. Her eyes were guarded as she watched him. One of Han's new skills was noticing when she felt uncomfortable about something. Like right now. Which he found strange. Considering how sexually aggressive she'd been with him since day one. He should've backed away but he was enjoying himself too much.
"What are you doing?" she asked as he kept coming at her.
"I'd like to change your opinion of me," he said. "If you let me."
"Losing the supercilious smirk would be a good start." The remark only made him do it all the more. And on top of the smirk he was staring at her and he didn't stop. It started to bother her. "And quit doing that," she bristled.
"Doing what?"
"The staring thing."
"Why would I stop when I like the effect it has on you?"
Arrogant sonofabitch.
Bobbie felt a sudden spark of nerves. The jangling feeling reminded her all too much of the other night. And she was right to feel that way because his hand came up to her face. "I'm holding a wrench," she warned him.
"That doesn't scare me." With his thumb he began to gently wipe away a smudge of oil from her cheek.
Bobbie felt the breath catch in her throat. These feelings made absolutely no sense. It wasn't possible for her to be attracted to Han, he wasn't her type after all; and it wasn't something she wanted to feel, but strangely she did. Since her arrival in Tokyo and meeting him, she hadn't been able to get him off her mind and it made her uneasy. She wasn't supposed to get attached, least of all to people she'd known just a matter of days; relationships weren't exactly her thing. Mainly because she sucked at them.
But no matter how hard she tried to fight it the heat from his touch sent tingles rippling down her back in slow, warm waves. God, this guy was good. His fingers curled around the back of her head and, damn him, she wanted to kiss him so bad. But just as his lips were about to touch hers the sound of a car horn, namely Twinkie's Hulk-mobile, cut through the air interrupting them, and she heard his sigh as he pulled back with a half-smile.
"Saved by the proverbial bell," he murmured, and brushed his knuckles over her cheek.
Bobbie stared into his dark eyes and wondered what was so special about him that made her so cautious and so curious. "Just as well, because I have an engine to fix," she replied as nonchalantly as she could. Without waiting for his reply she turned back to the car armed with the wrench and focused her attention on that.
"No worries. There'll be other opportunities," he said confidently. He thought he saw her hand stop for just a second before picking up the pace again. Han only smiled to himself. He turned and lifted his hand in a half-hearted wave at Twinkie and Reiko as they came inside. Could their timing be any worse? Then he disappeared up to the loft and back to his paperwork.
"Damn, someone die in here? Even God's waiting room ain't this quiet," complained Twinkie. Moments later the stereo was turned on and loud American hip hop blasted through the garage.
Normal order was once again restored.
_____________________________________________
COPYRIGHT. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Debra Jay. 2010