Legs // ZZ Top

Grease. I really shouldn't consume anything that contains the level of grease this burger does but what can I say, it's an addiction. My name is Nico and I have a fast-food problem. Isn't that what they say in those twelve step programs for addicts? That's me, burger addict.

I won't sweat it. Well, I will later on at the dojo, so for now I will indulge.

Another bite. I wipe the mess from my hands onto my already grease covered jeans. Working on cars isn't clean so I could give a shit what I wipe on them. Autoshop was the source today, but tonight it will be the GTO I'm restoring. The motor is almost cherry, and once that's done, I can move onto the rest of the vision. This one should bring in some hard cash, and not a minute too soon.

My phone pings with a text from my cousin, Garrett. He lives in another city. I haven't seen him in a few years cause the jerk hates facetime. He doesn't even like talking on the phone with me so texting is as much as I get.

The latest design is ready

He's no fun. The guy is so closed off I can't get him to crack a joke. I guess I'm not one to talk, here sitting by myself noshing on a grease burger. Alone. Scanning the room just in case I need to throw down.

Ha. Like I would actually knock someone out in the restaurant. That's the rumor, but everyone knows rumors are lies topped with revenge and a side of envy.

Don't they? Or is that just me...

I scan the room anyway, letting my tainted reputation proceed me. It's a full time fucking job walking around like the guy they think I am. I mostly observe random people running in to grab take out. It's usually filled up with the after school crowd but today's big game is keeping them away until later. I glare at a couple High School seniors that skipped the game who look away in fear. Good.

I turn my attention back to my burger and Garrett's text.

Sounds good. I'll go over it when I get home.

I'm an eighteen-year-old entrepreneur. Garrett is my second in command. The kid has been through it in this life and he's only seventeen. I wish I could do more for him but one, he's not in close proximity and two, I've got too much of my own shit to deal with.

His designs, though, are freaking awesome. Clean and in total harmony with the vehicles we recondition, his aesthetic is the reason my business does so well. That and the fact that I've never forgotten a thing my dad taught me about cars.

I cough, not wanting to let my mind wander to touchy subjects, and take another bite of my grease burger. So damn good. Bacon and cheese topped with grilled onions and barbeque sauce...I'm going to have to spend an extra hour doing bag rolls at the dojo just to burn this off.

Worth it.

I suck down the diet coke to wash away the grease when I hear a noise that I can only compare to nails on a chalkboard. My head whips to the window in search of the offending sound and when I find it, I'm in shock. What can barely pass for a '66 Mustang pulls into the lot like a bullet, black smoke from burning oil pouring out of the exhaust, a tragedy right in front of my eyes. I can tell from here how bald the tires are, white walls no more. The brakes are screaming, the motor is dying and the body hasn't seen paint in years. It's a neglected child. This is abuse of an American muscle car.

What I thought was the biggest shock of my day in the form of a messed up classic, becomes just a side note, completely forgotten moments later. The driver's side door flies open and a goddess emerges.

If this was a movie, the clouds would have parted and a bright beam of sunshine would be the spotlight on the long-awaited star of the show. Gorgeous. Shiny jet black hair parted down the middle and running straight down her back, luscious hot pick lips...lips I am sure taste a hell of a lot better than this burger I just dropped. The picture of rock star sexy all in black, including thigh high black patent leather boots with long thin heels, the goddess walks, no floats, right into the greasy pit I'm sitting in. My jaw must be unhinged because I can't lift it back into locked and closed position. Thank God she hasn't made eye contact with me because this is not a look I can recover from.

Wait, do I want to recover? Do I want her attention, her eyes on mine and her lips...close? Touching me? Heat from her skin invading mine?

Hell yes, I do.

Burger forgotten—and I think my coke actually fell to the floor—I stand up and take three steps in her direction before I even know what I'm doing. I have no words, nothing planned, just an instinct that I must be in her presence. I must get as close to the sun as I can without bursting into flames.

Basically this is a suicide mission but I'm good with leaving this Earth if it means I've been singed by this otherworldly beauty.

Okay, what the hell was in that burger? This is not me. I don't chase women. I'm an observer of life, a gatherer of information and I keep to myself. I have my people...ah shit, never mind she's leaving! I am compelled to follow her, go where she goes, live where she lives.

I'm broken. I need more than a twelve-step group for junk food addicts. This might take a team of doctors to fix what's wrong with me because she turned back to get in line with a scowl and I almost did that fist pump 'yes' thing in celebration.

Seriously, who the fuck am I and what happened to Nico, the guy I was five minutes before her Mustang pulled into this lot? I've got to get ahold of myself, go back to my booth and chow down on that awesome burger I was just in love with.

Instead I get in line right behind her. My heart is racing and I put my hands in my pockets to keep from reaching out and touching those silky black locks. Her hair has hot pink tips but I didn't see that when she walked in because it is halfway down her back and the pink tips are just touching that sexy part of her waist that dips into the sides.

This girl is a bombshell, and I'm shell-shocked. The reverb from the detonation will be felt for hours. Days. Months. I honestly don't know if I will ever recover and she hasn't.said.a.word.yet.

The line moves forward two steps and I clear my throat. Why did I do that? Am I about to speak? I watch as the goddess rolls her shoulders. She's tense? Something about her posture tells me she's upset. Maybe it's also the way she's tapping her foot. I want to put her at ease, take the seriousness out of the way. So I lean closer to her and say the first and stupidest thing I think to say.

"I seem to have lost my phone number. Can I have yours?"

Jeez, I've lost my mind. I rock back on my heels, giving her space to turn around and give me some kind of brush off, but she doesn't. The goddess doesn't flinch. That shoulder roll is done and her foot tapping doesn't change tempo.

I might see her fist clench but that could just be my imagination. I think she stands up a little straighter but I might be crouching to get closer to her. I need to see those lips again. I haven't seen the color of her eyes yet and I am dying to. Dying. I think her eyes are my new favorite color. Except I really love these hot pink tips that I am fighting temptation to stay the hell away from. I want to wrap my fingers around a few strands and then let them slip out slowly just to test how silky smooth they really are.

I pull myself together, keeping my hands in my pockets to stifle the temptation. Then I open my mouth and speak. Again. And it's pretty bad. Again.

"Kiss me if I'm wrong, but dinosaurs still exist, right?"

Oh my God I'm a fucking creep.

Finally!!! These two are back in action and I am so excited to jump into their story! How many of you have read More Than This? Did you miss these two? I pulled from some of their couples banter to build their story, which was so fun!

Side note, this story will contain More Than This spoilers for Garrett's story, and some cameos from other characters as well. But you DON'T need to have read MTT to enjoy this prequel.

Thank you so much for reading!! Please consider voting, commenting, sharing and adding to reading lists. It really helps so much.

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