The Mechanic – Steamy Shorts Read Online Lena Little

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Erotic, Insta-Love Tags Authors:

Total pages in book: 16
Estimated words: 15387 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 77(@200wpm)___ 62(@250wpm)___ 51(@300wpm)

When my best friend calls me in the middle of the night and orders me to help his little sister, I want to choke the life out of him. It’s almost 1 AM and I’ve just popped open my first bottle of beer. I was looking forward to a relaxing weekend free from the smell of grease and exhaust.

I guess that’s not happening anymore.
With a groan and a couple of curses, I grudgingly drive to the outskirts of town.
I know Nora. She used to tag along with me and Keith until he yelled at her to go home. She had red, curly hair, a smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks, and the cutest dimple on her chin.
For some reason, I half-expect to see some kid in the car, and I even briefly wonder if she’s old enough to get a license.
When I finally find her, she turns around and seizes my heart clean off my chest.
She’s my best friend’s sister, and I’m way older than her. She’s flawless, perfect. I’m just an ordinary man with dirt under his fingernails.
So many reasons not to touch her and stay as far away from her as possible.
But…all it takes is for her to look at me like she wants me too and whatever wall of excuses I’ve erected around myself comes crumbling down.
Nora’s mine. I should feel guilty about claiming her, but I don’t. I need her in my life. As for the consequences, I can’t bring myself to give a damn.
As long as I have her.

F*ck everything else.

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************



Whoever tries to disturb my peace is a dead man.


The bottle cap hisses as I pry it off, the scent of malt and hops filling the air.

Fucking finally. I can relax. I can drink this beer that’s been sitting in my fridge for almost two weeks.

I kick off my shoes and slump on my well-loved sofa, a bit threadbare in places and with frayed edges and loose threads on the armrests. It’s been a busy couple of days, and it seems like everyone in this town had their car break down all at once. Don’t get me wrong, I love my work and I absolutely enjoy it.

But damn, I feel the exhaustion down to my bones. I can’t even remember the last time I slept for more than five hours. And even when I’m at home, I’m mentally cataloging all the repairs I need to make the following day.

Tonight, though. Tonight is all mine. And I’m not touching anything in my shop for the next three days. I’ll be here in my house, with my cat Alvin, finishing a case of Corona and ignoring everyone else.

I settle deeper into the three-seater, its wooden frame creaking under my weight. Maybe I should buy a new one. It’s long overdue. Then again, what for? I live alone, and Alvin enjoys digging his sharp claws into the faux leather fabric. The only visitors I get are my two employees and my best friend, Keith.


The bottle is halfway to my lips when my phone rings. Nope. Not answering it. I can just pretend to be asleep. Or busy. Or dead.


Ah, fuck.

Speak of the devil.

It’s Keith of all people.

Now, I know I said I will ignore all calls. But Keith is an exception. The asshole always is, and he knows it.

As to whether or not I should kill him depends on what he’s calling me for. So with a harsh exhale, I answer the call. “Yeah?”

“Hey, asshole. You still up?”

“I'm answering your call, aren't I?”

“Fuck off.”

“Right back at you. So to what do I owe this pleasure? Miss me?”

“Fuck you. I need help.”

“Nope. Bail your own ass.”

“Not me, fucker. My sister.”

“Well, you bail her out yourself.”

“Will you just listen for one damn minute?”

I chuckle at the frustration in his voice. Keith has a short fuse, and yes, I enjoy pushing his buttons every chance I get. Besides, he deserves it for calling in the middle of the night. “Fine. Out with it.”

“Remember my sister? She’s supposed to be coming home. Well, her rusty car broke down. Kept telling her to sell that piece of shit and she never listened.”

“Hmm. Sounds familiar. Must run in the family.”

“Very funny. My Toyota Camry still runs like it’s brand new.”

“Are we gonna pretend you didn’t just cough up two grand to fix that last month?”

“That was 1,500.”

I burst out laughing because he’s one to talk. His 1998 sedan is one pothole away from ending up in the junkyard. “Where is she?”

“I have no idea. Her text says on the outskirts of town. Signal’s apparently spotty, so maybe by the Hilltop Oaks? Listen, I’m in the next state for work. I’m flying back as soon as I can. Can you maybe drive around and find her? I know our place is generally safe…”