Simply Irresistible // Robert Palmer

The finishing touches for the GTO are underway. The motor is clean, with the perfect purr leading to a rich roar when I punch it. In about an hour, I'm delivering her to the body shop that will paint her out to Garrett's specifications. In a few days, the interior guy will come by to rework the seating. I'd be lying if I said seeing the whole design come together was my favorite part, though.

The low-down dirty truth is I relish the challenge, the before when all of the potential is still at my fingertips and mine to discover. I love coming across a junker that I know can be a classic, better than the original. Most of the time, I find the jems in a junk yard heap, or someone's backyard forgotten and left to decay.

The other day, seeing the Mustang driven by a goddess, was a completely different type of discovery. I was appalled that someone would let a car that well-known face the world in such a state. Then I was blown away that the person driving the heap was such a knock-out. I think my brain must have been rewired last Friday because now...she's all I can think about. April and her potential. Her car's potential, that is.

Yeah, sure. Keep telling yourself that, bro.

If only I could stop being such a douche in her presence.

My back pocket vibrates so I pull out my phone to see a text from Garrett

Paint complete yet?

I haven't talked to the guy on the phone in months and this is the only kind of thing he texts me, car business. I want to ask him how he's holding up, if he thinks they might be able to move back to the area any time soon. There's even a part of me that wishes I could talk to him about April. Tell him what she's like and how she twists me up so tight I don't even recognize the things coming out of my mouth. But I leave it. For now.

Taking her in an hour. Shouldn't take more than a day to complete.

I fire off the text and watch as the three dots fade in and out.

Send pics when its done

That might be the most sentimental thing he's texted me in three years. What a sad effing statement. This guy's been basically my best friend my entire life. One shitty, life altering moment tore him away and kept him there, away from the only family he and his mom have now. What I'm about to do may piss him off but I have to try to get him to open up a little.

How's ur mom?

This time I watch the dots fade in and out for a while. Stopping and starting, it's obvious that I touched on a tender subject. I actually wonder if he's typing more than just a few words but am not surprised when I get his clipped reply.

Good

Jeez, G...I don't know if I should push but I do it anyway.

Do you feel safe where you are?

I run my hands through my hair, leaving remnants of grease that I could care less about. My heart is pounding at what Garrett might be going through. The phone is quiet for too long and I hate myself for pushing him too far.

Finally, the dots start up again and then his text comes through.

Safe enough for now

I breathe a sigh of relief. Part of me can't believe he answered so honestly. I don't want to let the opportunity pass me by. I need to add one more thing.

You can always call, G. I'm here for you man.

This time it only takes a minute for his reply.

Yeah

He reached out when my dad died six months ago, telling me he was sorry. I knew that took a lot for him to say, even in a text. He's been broken after watching his dad let drugs ruin his life, and then as his older sister jumped into an abusive relationship. Living in hiding from her ex has been a nightmare for the whole family, but nothing as bad as what Garrett and his mom have had to endure since the asshole found them, killing his sister in the driveway.

I find myself clenching my fists, wishing I could find that asshole myself and exact the justice that was never served. Someday. I tell myself for G's sake that someday he and his mom will see justice for Lisa.

That day isn't today, though, and it's time for me to get this car to the shop.

***

I pull into the body shop run by a guy named Edgar. He's an odd guy, not gonna lie, but he's got the magic touch with the paint. It's not easy to get a custom paint job, by hand, at the best price, without looking like some guy took a can of Rustolium and spray painted the thing within an inch of its life. I've restored a couple that had that kind of treatment. Nightmare. Paint clumped and glopped in all of the curves and crevices...just a disaster that was a bigger headache to clean up than I need in my life.

Edgar has a smooth, steady hand and there's never a drip on his work. A perfectionist with a strange obsession for mixed tapes. He always has some odd combination of music playing from a literal boom box and a Memorex tape. He says the low-fi quality is soothing or something.

Edgar steps into the bay, hands on hips, and surveys the car. He's already got his goggles on and a mixed tape filling the open space with sound. There's not much in the service bay other than the car and his paint gun. Anything else would suffer from overspray so he keeps the place cleared out.

"This one's gonna be a beaut, Nico." Edgar nods while walking circles around the GTO. "The scheme you sent over will work nicely with this model."

"You know I can't take credit for it. That design is all Garrett."

Edgar nods. He remembers G from years back when the two of us would hang around while Edgar and my dad talked cars. That connection is probably why I get the deal I do on Edgar's work. He hardly charges for labor, mostly just supplies.

"How long do you think this one will take you?" I ask as I lean against the wall and try to picture the car completed.

"Simple design, so shouldn't take more than a day. Then the time to air dry and cure...I'll have her back to you before the weekend."

"Nice," I say and turn to walk into his office. Edgar leaves candy on the counter and I could use the sugar rush. I pop a butterscotch in my mouth and check out the photos of his work plastered on the walls in here. One amazing classic after another, a few imports, an occasional touch up on some sedan, and then one that takes me to another place entirely.

"Hey, Edgar! When did you paint this one?" I call him into the office, not wanting to remove the photo from the wall but needing the details.

"Which one, Nico?" He enters the office, goggles pushed up onto his head now, wiping paint from his hands on a rag.

I point to the '66 Mustang painted a cherry red and glistening in the sun. "This one." From the age of the photo, it was a while ago, but seeing this model looking this good gets my wheels turning.

"Ah yeah, that was about ten years ago. Came in gun metal grey and dull. Drove out like a bombshell leaving broken hearts in its wake."

I nod and turn back to the wall of cars. Now that I've got the true vision for April's car, I can't put it aside. I know myself. I will be obsessed until I see this through. April won't like it. She can't stand me so I'm sure she won't want me anywhere near her car. Lucky for me I won't have to talk to her about it until I can soften her up.

I may have rushed out to the lot as soon as the bell rang to beat her to her car. I might have snapped a few pictures of it at various angles...mostly because it's a classic that needs attention, but partly because it's hers and I can't help myself. I could send these on to G and see what he comes up with. If it's as stellar as what he usually delivers, it wouldn't hurt to show it to April.

The girl is unpredictable. She might punch me in the junk for stalking her car. She could smirk and rip the thing into a million pieces (note to self don't give her a printed copy). April might even surprise me and give me the go-ahead. But in no scenario can I see her wrapping me up in her gorgeous arms, kissing me in gratitude, holding me close.

Nah, I think the junk punch is the most likely outcome. I better wear a cup that day.

I don't know why I feel compelled to even jump into the shark infested waters with this one, but I can't help myself. It's as much of a bad idea as the random pickup lines I can't stop blurting.

I run my hand down my face, groaning. "What the hell is the matter with me?"

From the service bay where Edgar disappeared to, I hear him reply, "Probably a lady. That's always what's the matter with me."

I laugh, shaking my head. "Since when does a lady give you the time of day?"

"Ah, that's what's the matter. They don't."

He's onto something now. "Maybe you're right, then." There is certainly a lady who won't give me the time of day. One I can't get out of my head, so yeah. She's driving me a little crazy.

And I have to admit it to myself. I like it a hell of a lot.

I walk back into the bay and lean against the doorframe looking at the GTO but not really seeing it. What I am seeing in my mind is a disaster of a classic that is quickly becoming my latest obsession. I have to get my hands on that car. And if it leads to getting my hands on the girl, all the better.

"That is the face of a man with a plan," Edgar says from the other side of the car where he's already working on mixing pigments to get the color match.

"If by plan you mean a clusterfuck of ideas, then yeah that's me." I take a deep breath and hold it. Once I speak this out into the universe, there will be no denying its truth. "Edgar, I have to ask you a favor."

Edgar doesn't look up from his equipment. "You sound reluctant. There's no obligation to ask if it's that painful." He pauses for a second then looks at me directly. "Wait, who's this going to be painful for, me or you?" His confusion matches mine.

"Good question. Based on the past four days, I'm going out on a limb and saying me. But that's just a guess." I find myself once again rubbing my hands up and down my face. I'm not as greasy as I can get because the car's been done for a day so I haven't had my hands in the engine in twenty-four hours. But I feel the grease under my skin. It's a sensation that only happens when I've found my next project and I literally start itching to get started on it.

Edgar puts down the bottles of pigment, wipes his hands on his coveralls and steps closer to me. "I know the feeling, Nico. But I will tell you this. Living with regret is so much worse than living with the consequences of taking a chance. Ask me." He crosses his arms and waits. Silence is a killer so I crack.

"I have my eye on a classic. And I don't think I'll be able to leave this one alone."

"Keep talking because so far this isn't anything unusual."

I nod. "The owner hates my guts and so far I've done nothing but make a fool of myself in front of her."

Now it's Edgar's turn to nod. He does so knowingly. "You've got all the signs, my friend. Here's another piece of unsolicited advice. You've found the one person to hold you in the palm of her hand without your permission. Do whatever it takes to show her what that means to you. Legally of course."

I huff a laugh and shake my head. My hand goes to rub the back of my neck. "I don't know, man. She scares the hell out of me. And yet I can't stop feeling her presence everywhere I go, even when she's nowhere near me. I tell myself I won't give in to whatever this is, then ten seconds later find myself approaching her and saying the stupidest shit possible. What the hell?"

The silence stretches for a minute and once I finally look up at Edgar I see him smirking at me. "What?"

"Nothing. I'm in. You get the car to me and we will do whatever it takes to get the thing cherry. I'm guessing this is a not-for-profit endeavor, thus the reason for the favor?"

I nod. "There's no way I'm charging her. I don't even want to tell her. Crap! I wish I could do all of this without her even knowing." Something tells me April will not be into what I'm dying to do to her car.

"You're a smart kid. You'll figure it out."

I laugh again. "Sure thing, Edgar. I'm gonna take off. See ya in a couple of days."

"Right." He waves me off and starts back at the paint mixer as I head out the main door. I live close enough to walk home, which is what I do when I drop off a car. Less coordinating with a ride that way. On my walk I shoot off the pictures of April's car from earlier in a text to Garrett. I'll need better schematics if I want a thorough design, but this is a good enough start.

I need this cherry. Black with hot pink worked in. Not overstated, just a hint.

Not a minute later, Garrett replies.

Not how I work, N. I can't go at it with preset colors.

I grumble. Stubborn ass.

G I need this. Just toss your method for once.

I wait and walk. G takes his sweet time responding so I know that pissed him off.

Must be for a girl. Fine, loverboy. I'll work in the pink.

Hot pink, I reply.

Fine. Hot pink.

Finally, I feel relieved. I slip my phone in my back pocket and try to form a plan. What I need is April's schedule so I can see when her car is unattended.

Yeah, I don't sound like a stalker at all.

Nah, he's no stalker. What's your thoughts about this one? Is Nico going overboard and headed for a punch to the junk or will April soften at his gesture? Tbh I'm not even sure how that ones going to go. Its going to take a few chapters to get there.

So in this one we meet Edgar. He'll factor in a few more times but I'm not sure exactly how yet. One thing I do know, April is simply irresistible...

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