They spotted her right away and couldn’t tear their eyes off her. It was impossible to miss the woman: a short, edgy haircut with shaved temples, and above them, a wild explosion of white hair streaked with dark, contrasting strands. Her ripped-knee jeans and fully tattooed shoulders, arms, neck, and décolletage screamed rebellion. On one arm, from wrist to elbow, leather bracelets wove intricate patterns, and nearly every finger bore a heavy, dark ring. With those slender, almost aristocratic fingers (which, where not adorned with rings, seemed to sport tattoos as well), she deftly wielded a wrench, swiftly loosening the nuts on the wheel of a sportbike propped up on its center stand. Judging by the battered plastic fairing, the bike had taken a serious hit somewhere along the way.
But the bike’s rough history clearly didn’t faze the exotic blonde. She hummed a tune under her breath, and then, as she removed a broken piece of plastic, she murmured in a tone as gentle as a vet soothing an injured animal, “Hang in there, beast. We’ll replace this, slap on some fresh paint, and you’ll be good as new.”
Max froze, struck by how her soft, tender demeanor, full, sensual lips, and slightly upturned, childlike nose clashed with her otherwise tough, rugged appearance. It was as if she deliberately chose her tattoos and rings to stamp out any trace of femininity, hiding it behind a facade of boldness, exotic flair, and loud, unapologetic individuality.
Her black tank top, smudged with grease, clung to her like a second skin, teasing just enough to draw attention without revealing too much. Her movements were precise, not a single one wasted, as if she’d spent her whole life with that wrench in her hand.
“Good Lord, she’s perfect!” Max exhaled, his eyes glued to this exotic bird.
He and his brother had stumbled upon this rural repair shop by pure chance. Normally, their cars were serviced at specialized garages, still under warranty. But out here, beyond city limits, Alex had misjudged his speed and hit a pothole so hard that a cast wheel turned into a cast oval. They had no choice but to pull into the nearest place for a fix.
While the Zaliski brothers openly stared at the stranger, she finished tightening the wheel on the sportbike, threw a jacket over her dusty, work-stained tank top, and slipped on a helmet.
“Perfect for what?” his younger brother drawled, lounging lazily on the sun-warmed hood of their car like a well-fed cat, his gaze sliding over the blonde once more.
“Perfect for getting Mom and Dad off my back once and for all!” Max replied, not taking his eyes off her.
“That doesn’t make it any clearer!” his brother snorted.
“Wait here!” Max said quickly, as if afraid he might second-guess himself. He strode toward the blonde, who was now angrily tapping and swiping at the GPS on another bike—a black, hefty, chrome-covered beast. So, the sportbike wasn’t hers? Interesting...
“Hey there! Marry me!” Alex couldn’t believe his ears. He thought he’d misheard. Sure, his brother was a character, but to just blurt out something like that... Yet, that one line made everything click. So that’s why Max was so taken with this wild bird...