ꪆ୧ ׅ ⬫ A͟L͟L͟ AMERICAN ! READER ᰍ
✶ FIX HER UP : Looks like you’ve gotten yourself into a bit of trouble, sweetheart.
♯┆WARNINGS.ㅤ─── suggestive
“i dug my key into the si—” Chug-chug-chug—CLUNK. The sound of your cheerful singing died out as your red pickup truck, Dolly, came to a halt. “Oh, no, no, girl, not today,” you pleaded, turning the key in the ignition over and over to no avail. Poor Dolly had been on her last legs for awhile now, but you didn't have the money to get her all fixed up, and you'd rather die than even think of cheating on her with some other rust bucket.
You let out a frustrated huff, hitting the steering wheel. You looked up at your cracked rear view mirror, finding the road around you completely deserted—just your luck.
Reaching over into the passenger's seat, you grabbed your cellphone from your purse and begrudgingly dialed the number for Big Al's Autobody Shop, knowing full well that Al would try to hit on you and then overcharge you for the tow when you turned him down, which you can do when the Sheriff is your brother-in-law.
“Big Al's Autobody, how can I help you today?” Al's nasally voice came through the speaker. He was a bigger man with a beer belly and a big, ungroomed beard that took up half his face.
“Hiya, Al,” you said, your sweet-as-honey voice falling from your lips. “It's Y/N, I seem to have broken down out on Hickory Creek on my way home from Magnolia's,” you informed him, biting your lip nervously. “I desperately need a tow or somethin'.”
“Well, well, if it ain’t my favorite customer,” Al replied, his voice containing an element of flirtation, bordering on creepiness, that sent a chill down your spine. You could practically hear him grinning on the other end of the line, imagining his yellowing teeth and leering stare. “Hickory Creek, huh? That’s a mighty fine stretch of road for a truck to give out on. Don’t worry, sugar, we’ll get you fixed up. I’ll send someone right out.”
“Thanks, Al,” you replied politely, thankful that he wasn't coming himself but still on edge about the kind of men he probably employs.
“No problem, doll,” you cringed at the nickname, quickly hanging up the phone and stepping out of the car, your worn cowboy boots thudding against the pavement. The A.C. had crapped out on you months ago, and without the luxury of the wind whipping into your windows as you went 60, the hunk of metal was sweltering in the summer heat, even as the sun began to set.
You adjusted your bra uncomfortably as you leaned against the side of your truck, sweat gathering in the swells of your breasts as well as about every crevice you had. You shifted your legs, feeling the sticky sweat between them as you groaned. You just wanted to be back home in the cool air of your bedroom, but alas, here you were, waiting for some hillbilly to come get your car.
Your hair stuck to your forehead, dampened from the heat and the rushing around at the diner that you'd done all day, waiting on tables. You brushed the sweat from your brow, watching the sky and waiting around for awhile before the sound of a car engine coming up drew your attention.
You turned, leaning your shoulder against Dolly and crossing your arms as you watched the tow truck approach, getting ready to deal with whatever overweight, sleazy guy Al had sent your way, but you were surprised when a tall, muscular figure stepped out in a white wife-beater with grease stains, a pair of old blue jeans, and boots.
“Looks like you’ve gotten yourself into a bit of trouble, sweetheart,” he drawled, flashing you that all-too-familiar smirk as he adjusted his backward hat on his head, giving you a view of his tousled, sweaty hair for a moment before he put the hat back on.
“Poor girl just gave out on me,” you sighed, watching him intently as he grabbed some tools from the passenger's side of his truck. His arms, coated in a thin sheen of sweat and smudges of grease, flexed as he moved, giving you ample view of his built form.
Rafe Cameron had a habit of coming into Magnolia's Diner every morning to order a black coffee and flirt with you everytime you stopped by his table, flashing that arrogant smirk that had your knees weak, but you knew your daddy wouldn't approve of him, so you tried not to daydream about him too much, but my was he just the most handsome man you'd ever laid eyes on.
“Please tell me you can fix her,” you spoke up again, knowing it was quite the ask, especially since the sun was quickly setting. You were hoping maybe she just needed a jump or something quick to get you back on the road.
“Don't you worry your pretty little head, darlin',” he winked, walking toward you with his toolbox in hand. "I'll have her purring like a kitten in no time." He said it with such confidence, without even knowing what was wrong, that it calmed your worries about Dolly but made your heart beat a little faster in your chest.
You knew this wasn't standard practice. Most mechanics would've taken the car and left you stranded, but Rafe was determined to fix her up right on the side of the road, like it was the most natural thing in the world. It had between your thighs getting sticky for an entirely different reason.
He set down his toolbox with a thud, opening up Dolly's rusty hood and peering inside with pure confidence in his movements and actions. “Shit, darlin', this piece of junk needs a hell of a lot more than a quick fix.”
“Don't call Dolly a piece of junk,” you defended, your cheeks immediately heating up as you realized how silly you sounded defending the feelings of an inanimate object, but she was more than that to you. She was your mama's prized possession before she passed, leaving it to you. She was family.
Rafe chuckled, his deep voice rumbling through the quiet evening air. “I ain't mean to offend,” he said, glancing over at you with a mischievous grin. “But she’s seen better days, hasn’t she?” He reached down, tugging at a rusted piece under the hood, and you couldn’t help but notice the way his muscles shifted beneath the tight fabric of his shirt.
“So, you can't fix her tonight, but... you can fix her, right?" you asked, taking a few steps toward him, your brows furrowed and your bottom lip worried between your teeth.
He looked up at you, noticing the look of concern on your face that you couldn't have hid even if you wanted to. He had a soft spot for you—the sweetest girl he'd ever met. “Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he drawled, his voice smooth and teasing. “I can fix her. Might take a couple of days—maybe even longer if we’re talking parts—but I’ve got no problem putting in the time.”
You breathed out a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Rafe,” you said softly, looking up at him, now that you two were considerably closer—and he wasn't sitting down in a diner booth—you noticed how tall he was.
His pants tightened at the way you said his name in that soft, breathy tone of yours. He could have busted in his pants at that alone, but that mixed with the way you were looking at him had him damn near dizzy. “Ain't no problem at all.”
“Next time you come into the diner, it's coffee and a slice of pie on me,” you insisted, flashing him one of those sweeter-than-sugar smiles that had him resisting the urge to grab you by the waist and kiss you senseless. He could imagine all the things he wanted those pretty little lips to do—but he was supposed to be a gentleman.
He opened his mouth to speak, but the sound of your phone going off rang out, a startling contrast to the peaceful sound of crickets chirping.
“That's probably my daddy wonderin' where I am,” you laughed nervously, pulling the driver's door open and retrieving your ringing phone. “Hi, daddy,” you answered, pressing it to your ear and turning your back to Rafe, like that granted some semblance of privacy. “No, I'm fine. Dolly broke down, but I'm getting 'er towed to Big Al's,” you explained. “Uh huh, okay, yeah, thank you, daddy. I'll see you soon.”
You hung up, blushing as you turned back around and saw Rafe staring at you intently. “He's—uh—He's coming to pick me up," you told him.
He nodded but looked disappointed. He had wanted to offer you a ride home, get some more time alone with you. “I'll take her back to the shop and get a better look at 'er,” he told you, closing the hood and wiping his hands on his jeans. “I'll update you on her condition and recovery time tomorrow mornin',” he winked, making you smile shyly.
“Thanks again,” you said sincerely. It made your heart skip a beat that he cared so much. “It means a lot to me.”
“Don't mention it," he waved you off, picking up his tools and getting ready to hook your car up to the tow truck. As you watched him, you had the feeling that maybe Dolly breaking down wasn't the worst thing to happen.
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