FICTION – SHORT FICTION SERIES

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Top 5 Ways to Ask a Girl Out: Rule #3
Never assume you’re the smartest person in the driveway.

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So there I was, elbow-deep in engine parts, sweating like a liar in a job interview, and just barely pretending I knew what a serpentine belt was. I nodded at a bolt like it had insulted me personally.

She crouched next to me, sipping her probably-toxic coffee and watching with the calm curiosity of someone waiting for a raccoon to finish rooting through their garbage.

“You need a 10mm socket for that,” she said casually.

I froze. “What?”

“That bolt. You’re using the wrong size. That’s why it keeps slipping.”

I looked at the wrench in my hand. I had no idea what size it was. I picked it because it was shiny and made a satisfying clink against the toolbox.

“Right,” I said. “Just warming it up. Loosening the tension.” I said “tension” like I knew what it meant in this context. She didn’t call me out. Worse—she smiled.

“Here,” she said, reaching into the toolbox and plucking out the exact socket like a seasoned mechanic. Then, with zero hesitation, she slid under the hood next to me and got to work like it was no big deal.

“Wait,” I said. “You know how to fix this?”

“I grew up with three older brothers and a string of bad cars,” she said. “Also, I once rebuilt an engine because YouTube dared me.”

I blinked. “So… you’re just letting me fake my way through this for fun?”

“I was curious how long it would take before you admitted it,” she said, laughing. “You were doing okay, though. Kind of charming, in a flailing sort of way.”

Flailing. Excellent. I was now officially “flail-charming.”

She handed me a rag. “Wipe your hands. You’ve got grease on your face. And your shirt. And somehow your ear?”

I wiped at everything and absolutely made it worse.

“Thanks,” I muttered.

She leaned back on her heels, wiping her own hands like a total pro. “So. What was your plan? Fix my car and hope I’d fall in love with you on the spot?”

I froze.

Then shrugged. “Honestly? That was Plan A. I didn’t have a Plan B.”

She laughed. A real one. Then, after a beat, she said, “Well… I like Plan A.”

I nodded, trying not to panic. “Cool. Same. Feels like a solid… multi-step process.”

“You’ve got two more rules left, right?” she said, grinning. “Can’t wait to see what’s next.”

Neither could I.

Mostly because I had absolutely no idea what I was doing.