A roll of those intoxicating silver eyes, and a shrug that does downright hypnotic things to her gigantic tits. "It is now,bro.”
I close my eyes to rip my eyes off of them, and then find her eyes. "Cool." I jut my chin at her van. "Need a hand?"
"You an expert in VW engines?" she asks.
I shrug, shake my head. "Not especially, but I know my way around an engine." I hold up my hands. "Just offering assistance. You don't want it or need it, cool. I wasn’t making any assumptions. Just tryin' to be nice."
She looks away, her beautiful face going through a range of emotions—her face is incredibly expressive, her feelings obvious and easily readable: annoyance, embarrassment, and then resignation.
She holds out a wrench. "Fine. I can't get the fucking bolt free." She turns and leans into the engine compartment. "Stop staring at my ass."
Guiltily, I jerk my gaze away, because Iwasstaring. "Sorry."
She snickers. "You're not subtle about the staring, in case you weren't aware." Her voice is muffled, and I hear metal on metal. "You stared at my tits for a solid thirty seconds."
She emerges again, straightening, and rubs at her cheek, smearing grease on it.
“Hard not to stare at perfection,” I say, and then bite my tongue—she gives no sign that she heard me.
I wedge myself into the engine compartment, finding where she'd put the wrench—it's at a really tough spot, with no leverage and very little room to work. I grunt through gritted teeth as I strain at the wrench—after straining till my arm and shoulder shake, I feel it starting to slip.
“Come on, youbitch," I snarl, and then the bolt comes loose all of a sudden, smashing my knuckles and ripping my skin. "Motherfucker."
I finish removing the bolt, and I see the issue she's working on—a snapped belt.
"Got the replacement?" I ask. "I'll swap it out while I’m in here. Unless you'd rather do it yourself."
A pause. "Fine. Thanks. Here." I feel a tap on my right shoulder, I worm a hand out, feel the new belt hit my hand, and then spend the next several minutes replacing it.
When the repair is done, I work myself out and straighten. "All set."
I glance at my knuckles—the skin is torn, blood coating the back of my hand and mixing with grease and dirt.
Her eyes go to the cut, and she frowns. "Let me help you with that."
I shrug. "Meh. It's fine."
She frowns, annoyed. "It's not. It'll get infected. Just get your big macho ass in my van and let me doctor your little boo-boo, okay? It's the least I can do as a thank you for fixing my van."
"Uh, sure. Yeah. Okay." I follow her around to the passenger side.
She tugs open the sliding door, revealing the interior—it’s been retrofitted from the skin out, transformed from a ‘60s passenger van into a miniature RV, with the newest fittings and furnishings to make it into a home on wheels.
A tiny kitchenette takes up half of the wall behind the driver’s seat, with a bed in the rear and storage between the tailgate and the sliding door.
She steps up into the van and points at the bed. "Sit."
I stay on the ground. "I'm filthy."
In the process of rummaging in a cabinet, she pokes her head out and assesses me. "Oh, yeah, you really are. Nevermind. Just…just sit there." She points to the lip of the door.
I sit, and she sits beside me with a first-aid kit on her lap. She uses a wet wipe to clean my hand of dirt, grease, and blood, and then pours isopropyl on the cuts, adds a dab of Neosporin, and then Band-Aids across each cut.
While she's doing that, I examine her bus.
It's obvious she lives in it. A sports bra hangs off a cabinet, a mint green lacy one hanging over it. A pile of folded clothes sits on the bed. A wooden box sits on the floor at the foot of the bed—it's the size of a shoebox and looks handmade, overflowing with jewelry. A suitcase lays open on the floor as well, overflowing with skirts, shoes, tops, leggings, underwear, bras, bandanas, and who knows what else. The kitchenette features a small two-person booth, and bowls are stacked in the sink.
In the front passenger seat, I see a cardboard box overflowing with clothes—men's clothing. I can almost make out the writing on the side—DONATE.
