Total pages in book: 162
Estimated words: 153946 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 770(@200wpm)___ 616(@250wpm)___ 513(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 153946 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 770(@200wpm)___ 616(@250wpm)___ 513(@300wpm)
“Bonding break,” he announced.
“What the hell?” Kingston muttered, lowering his camera for the first time in an hour.
When Dalton went to hand Wanda to Chick, I stepped in and grabbed her. Fine, so I was feeling a little possessive about my girls. Both of them. “Can’t you see the man is wearing white pants?”
Dalton looked mystified, but Chick held up his hands and backed off. “It’s fine. Obviously, he needs her more than I do.”
That was how I wound up in more of a supervisory role for the rest of the morning, cradling the sleeping puppy in my arms while Kingston pumped me for in-depth information about how I’d modified the car.
“The engines are interchangeable,” I told him for at least the fifth time.
“Keep talking,” he said, prowling around me and angling his camera to ensure the VW was in frame behind me.
“The Porsche and Beetle?” I continued impatiently. “Same designer. It’s not always the case but, depending on the model, it usually doesn’t take much in the way of modifications to make the switch. I got the right engine in trade from a client with a car collection and ‘fuck you money’ a few years ago, so I made it happen.”
“Fuck you money?”
Chick smirked. “Picture enough money to wipe your ass with if you feel like it. Because fuck you.”
He would know.
“But why put it in this car?” my tormentor pressed. “You said you were restoring a classic, but today we’ve discovered that not only did you swap in this killer engine, you also installed a satellite radio and seat warmers, as well as a few extra bells and whistles that would make it unsellable to the average collector.”
“Don’t forget about the upgraded suspension, drive train and brakes,” Dalton piped up from his workbench.
I growled under my breath. “Why not this car? The owner didn’t want to sell it or show it, she wanted to travel in comfort and safety, so I restored the look of the old car while improving its functionality. I’m not sure what’s so hard to understand about that.”
Years ago, Sam’s husband had asked me to hunt down a VW that was the same make and model of the car she’d first come to Texas in, as a present for what would end up being their last anniversary together. When she’d moved back to the area, I’d spent more time on it than I strictly needed to. Little improvements here and there—occasionally big ones, like the engine—making sure it was in good shape for those road trips she was always taking.
I let her think she was doing me a favor. That I was working on Jiminy for “practice.” It was my way of paying her back for always being there when I needed her.
“It’s basically a Porsche camouflaged as a bug.”
Kingston nodded at Dalton. “I like that. I can use that.” Then he focused on me again. “It was a lot of time and expense for you. And now everything but the engine has to go.”
I tried to stop my jaw from clenching. “That’s what you’ve been filming for the last few hours. Practically everything but the chassis and what’s under the hood gets torn out to lighten the load and make room for the roll cage. In an endurance race, you also take out anything that might tax the engine and slow the car down.”
“And how do you feel about that?”
When Rick snorted behind me, I was finished. “I feel like we’re done here.”
Kingston lowered the camera and met my gaze. “Jesus, it’s like pulling teeth with you.”
“You wanted a professional mechanic’s take on the process. I gave it.”
His smile was hard. “You’ve been stomping around like an angry bear with a therapy puppy in your arms while your favorite car gets stripped. That’s not professional.”
Wanda started rooting around and I tucked her against my chest defensively. “This is my professional garage. And the vet said bonding time and socialization are important. Dalton is doing it too.”
Dalton turned away from his workbench, rubbing the wiggly sling across his chest. “I’ve been taking turns with the others for the last few days and they all seem to love it. Do you not like dogs, Mr. Haywood?”
“You’re being obtuse.” Kingston sounded aggravated.
I was pretty damned aggravated myself.
“The trials of the serious filmmaker.” Chick sighed mockingly. He was taking a break on a stool, his short-sleeved blue shirt and white pants still miraculously dirt-free, though his face and arms were glistening with sweat. “He’s so busy trying to force dark moments and profound reveals, he can’t see that the grumpy mechanic clutching a sweet, helpless puppy is already telling the audience the story he’s refusing to share.”
It was? What the hell was it saying? Shit.
Kingston narrowed his eyes on Chick. “I’m getting to the truth. I’m aware that’s an unusual concept for someone with your unique skillset, but I can’t spend hundreds of thousands on special effects to distract from bad acting and lazy writing.”