Hard to Break

His face scrunches up and he grumbles. “Got more than a fuckin’ lipstick.”

“And if you step any closer, I’ll chop that little thing right off and toss it into the traffic.”

“Jesus,” he grunts. “You’re a total cunt.”

“There a problem here?”

We both turn and my eyes widen to see Tazen approaching. I gape at how amazing he looks tonight. He’s wearing a pair of black jeans and a tight grey sweater that he has rolled up to the elbows. His hair is messy, his eyes are bright and he looks breathtaking. His gaze, however, is murderous as he stands next to my drunken buddy.

“Don’t even try it on with this bitch, dude,” the drunk man grunts. “She’s batshit crazy.”

Tazen steps up to him, intimidating as all hell. “What did you fucking call her?”

The guy’s eyes widen and dart between Tazen and me. “I, ah…”

“Get the fuck out of here before I knock you out.”

The guy nods and rushes off, clearly knowing what’s good for him. No one in their right mind would take on Tazen. He’s a big guy.

“Ah,” I say, watching the guy go. “Thanks.”

“He hurt you?”

My eyes flick to his. “No, I’m fine. Believe it or not I can look after myself.”

He steps up beside me. “Never said you couldn’t.”

I nod, swallowing.

“You want a drink?”

I turn to him, studying his stu

He stares at me for a long, intense moment, then he grins. “Do you question everything?”

I narrow my eyes. “Mostly.”

His lip twitches. “One drink, angel.”

“Fine,” I say. “One drink.”

He smiles and nods towards a small garden space at the front of the bar. “Go sit down. I’ll be back.”

I nod and walk over, flopping down onto a free chair. I wonder why the hell I am agreeing to a drink with this man after he has done nothing but taunt me, but he seems genuine and one drink won’t kill me—especially after he let me have such an amazing experience on the track today.

Tazen returns a minute later and hands me a beer. I take it, grateful it doesn’t contain vodka, or tequila, or anything else that will send me spiraling into an embarrassing drunk before I’m ready.

“So, Qui

I take a sip of the ice-cold beer. “Nothing to tell.”

He leans back in the chair, crossing his ankles. “We all have stories, angel.”

I meet his gaze. “And sometimes we don’t want to tell them.”

He nods. “Can understand that.”

“Tell me about your cars.”

He smiles, placing his beer in his lap and curling both his hands around it casually so it doesn’t slip off. “Been under cars and driving them since I could understand what an engine was—used to build them with my uncle and I knew from a young age it was what I wanted to do.”

“Me too.”

He looks to me with narrowed eyes. “You’re seriously telling me you can fix a car?”

“Are you seriously telling me that you think the only people in the world who can fix cars are men?”

He shrugs. “It’s our role, just like males don’t make good hairdressers, you know.”

“Males can be the best hairdressers,” I point out.

He scrunches up his nose.

I can’t help it, I laugh.

He huffs. “Fine, point taken.”

“When did building become more than just fun for you?”

He takes a sip of his beer, thinking about that for a long while. “My uncle died and left me a good amount of money when I was nineteen. I figured what the hell, I’d start building custom cars. It just exploded from there, I got a name and here I am.”

“So you’re self-taught,” I say. “That’s impressive.”

“Yeah.” He grins. “I know.”

“Arrogant too.”

He chuckles. “Never denied it, angel.”

“How old were you when you sold your first custom?”

“Twenty—it took me a year to build that car but I sold it for double the price I paid to build it.”

“That’s pretty cool, even for you.”

He shakes his head with amusement.

“Do you think you’re going to do it forever?”

“Nah,” he grunts. “One day I’ll get tired of it, but by then I’ll have enough money it won’t matter.”

“How will you survive when you’re not famous and girls don’t throw themselves at you?”

I say this while throwing my hand across my chest. He looks at me out of the corner of his eye, with an impressive and sexy as hell half smile. “I’ll have to find a way. I’ll probably become a male escort.”

I snort. “You’d probably do well.”

“Especially if I dress up. The chicks dig my uniforms.”

I roll my eyes and shake my head.

“Enough about me, angel. I want to know more about you.”

“As I said, there’s nothing to tell.”

I look away, taking a sip of beer. I really hope he doesn’t ask too much, because it’ll be embarrassing for me when he finds out just how boring my life is.

“You got yourself a man?”

“We both know the answer to that,” I say, still directing my eyes away from him.

“How long has your dad owned the garage?”

“Since I was born.”

He goes silent and I turn to look at him. He’s staring ahead with a blank expression on his face.

“It’s all I’ve ever known,” I go on. “My dad, he, ah, got unwell when my mother passed. It hasn’t been easy, but I’ve managed to keep it going.”

“Big job for a girl to do on her own,” he says, still not looking at me.

“Maybe, but it’s all I’ve ever known and I love working with cars. I have been in that garage since I was little. I used to spend a lot of weekends with my dad. When I learned to fix cars, I did that instead of going out and living like most teens did at my age. It’s the happiest place in the world for me, it always has been.”

He nods and is silent for a minute.

“That old Mustang you drive,” he says, changing the subject. “You do that up?”

I turn to him, tucking my leg up underneath me. “Yes, Dad and I fixed it up when I was younger. I love that car.”

He nods. “It’s a nice one.”

“Do you have any old classic cars?”

He turns to me, flashing me a wicked grin. “Nah, I only go for the powerful, sleek, new ones.”

“Of course you do,” I scoff.

“I’d like one, though.”

I nod, drinking more beer.

“You seen a car built from the ground up?”

I shake my head. “No, but I’d love to.”

“You should come past my shop one day. I might even let you drive one of my creations.”

I gasp. “You’d let a girl, a simple girl, behind the wheel of your car?”

He shakes his head, gri

“Let me guess,” I say with laughter in my voice. “She has to have model good-looks and big breasts out to…” I put my hands out in front of me. “Here.”

He looks over to me. “No, she just has to be real.”

I blink.

His face doesn’t change.

He’s being serious. Holy shit he’s being serious. Now I feel bad.

“Most of the girls you are with don’t seem real, Tazen.”

He shakes his head, his eyes travelling off into the distance. “Nah, they aren’t.”

“Don’t worry,” I say lightly. “There are plenty of fish in the sea.”

He exhales on a laugh. “You’re a piece of work, angel.”

“I never denied it.”

He turns to me, and he’s got a serious, lusty look on his face. He leans in close and my breath hitches as his fingers go up and curl around the back of my neck. “I’ve met a lot of women in my time, but none of them intrigue me the way you do. Fuck, hearing you scream with joy in my car today. Made me fucking hard as hell.”

Oh. Shit.

“It’s called wanting what you can’t have,” I squeak.

“No, baby, it’s called wanting,” he leans in close so our lips are nearly touching, “what’s real.”

Oh boy.

He leans in closer and I realize he’s going to kiss me. He’s going to kiss me and I don’t have it in me to pull back, hell, I don’t want to pull back and I should. Yet here I am moving closer to him, desperate to know how he tastes. His breath tickles my lips right before heaven breaks open and something amazing happens.