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Prompt: Joe is a grease covered sleeveless mechanic and Cherry's smart car breaks down outside his shop. Joe begins their conversation with "Can I help you there, ma'am?" Cherry just broke up with his fiancé Adam. How does Joe win him over and get a date?
Kojiro wiped his forehead with the back of his arm, no doubt replacing sweat with a smear of grease as he walked through the door from the shop into the frigidly air-conditioned office.
He looked around to see who had rung the office bell to page him and was faced with the backside of a slender beauty with long pink hair pulled back and tied low, contrasting against a black turtleneck. And what a beautiful backside it was, highlighted in perfectly fitted light cream slacks.
“Can I help you there, ma’am?” he asked.
The person startled, turning around and—
Oh.
“Man,” Kojiro corrected awkwardly. “Can I, uh, help ya, man?”
“I’m doubting that more and more all the time,” the man said haughtily, a refined pink eyebrow raised over the rim of his glasses.
It was love at first sight. Or maybe second sight?
Hell, why not both.
“Did you have an appointment?” Kojiro asked, heading behind the counter to look in the computer. Though if there had been anything on the schedule, he would’ve known it by now. But maybe his part timer had jotted something down on a sticky note and forgotten to enter it in the shop calendar—
“Sadly, no. I didn’t have my car breaking down penciled in for today,” the man answered.
Kojiro huffed a laugh. “Fair enough,” he conceded. “Shall we take a look?”
“It’s a smart car,” the man said with a frown. “Listen, I—I doubt you’re equipped to deal with it here, you don’t really look that type—and that’s fine, I didn’t really expect you to—but I need to find—”
“If it broke down in front of my shop, then it’s definitely a smart car,” Kojiro assured him with a wink. “Because that’s what I specialize in.”
The beautiful man blinked back, surprised. He didn’t bother to hide his skeptical up-and-down glance, taking in Kojiro’s grubby jeans with the torn knees or his faded uniform shirt with sleeves long gone. Or the new smear of grease across his forehead if his eyes lingering there were anything to go by.
“Cmon. Let’s go take a look,” Kojiro said, holding the door and gesturing for the man to go first and lead the way to his car. “I didn’t catch your name?”
“Because I didn’t give it,” the man retorted smoothly.
“I didn’t realize it was a secret,” Kojiro teased, unable to hold back a smile. “I’m Kojiro.”
Golden eyes flickered to the patch on Kojiro’s shirt. “Then why does your uniform say ‘Joe’? You aren’t even really a mechanic, are you?”
“What would I be then? A stripper dedicated enough to method act?”
“Humble,” the man said wryly, sparing another glance for Kojiro’s chest and exposed arms. “But my guess was actually a serial killer who killed the real mechanic and assumed his identity while you select your next victim. Which would probably be me, now that I’ve seen through your shoddy disguise.”
“Very…imaginative, but no,” Kojiro answered, laughing. “And what do you mean, shoddy?”
“Okay, the little grease smear is a nice touch, I’ll give you that.”
Kojiro rubbed at his forehead, knowing it accomplished nothing. But it got a little smirk out of his customer so maybe it was worth it after all. “Joe is my nickname.”
“Exactly what I’d expect the killer to say,” the man countered smoothly, then gestured somewhat unnecessarily at the very sleek, very expensive red car in front of them. “There it is.”
“It’s, uh, very red,” Kojiro said, circling around the car which had genuinely very conveniently broken down right in front of his shop. He let out an appreciative whistle.
“Save your whistling for when it runs. At the moment I’m not particularly impressed with it, no matter how expensive it was.”
“How expensive was it?” Kojiro asked. “If you don’t mind me asking. Purely professional curiosity.”
“Of course,” the customer said, a slight smirk on his lips. “Is that so you know how much to charge me?”
“What? No!” Kojiro scowled. “I’m not out to screw you—uh—” The man’s eyebrows shot up. “I mean, I’m not gonna overcharge you, regardless of how loaded you may be. Or may not be. Y’know. Which…ever.” He did a double take at the vanity plate. “‘Cherry’? That you or the car?”
“A nickname,” was the haughty reply.
Kojiro laughed. “Fair enough, Cherry,” he said with a smirk.
They got the car started up just long enough for Kojiro to limp it into one of the shop bays before it abruptly died again.
“Any ideas?” Cherry asked, arms folded across his chest.
“A couple,” Kojiro answered vaguely. “But all electronic-related. Doesn’t seem to be a mechanical issue but we’ll know in a minute.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah.” Kojiro reached down to the panel near the brake and popped the cover, exposing a port. He fumbled around for a moment, unable to actually see the prongs, grinning when his cable for his handheld connected. “This’ll tell us here in a sec.”
Kojiro watched the purple lights flicker as the screen of his little handheld went through diagnostics. “With the tech in these cars, you gotta be more computer programmer than actual mechanic these days.”
“Oh, so you’re a computer programmer are you?” Cherry said, amused. “In addition to being a stripper and a serial killer?”
“I didn’t say that!” Kojiro huffed, catching Cherry’s little smile. “Though I’d have to be if I didn’t have this little gal. She’s brilliant. All those computery brains in this tiny package. Every time I plug her in, I’m amazed by how anyone could even make something like this. Must be a genius. Like, a real actual one.”
“Little gal?” Cherry asked, looking a bit pink.
“Huh?”
“You called it a little gal. Little, I guess I understand, but..?”
“Oh. Her name is Carla. That’s actually her acronym but I can never remember what it stands for—”
“Computer Assisted Recalibration and Logical Analysis,” Cherry answered. “The acronym ‘CARLA’ is the software, not the handheld itself.”
“How do you know that?” Kojiro said nervously.
“I know because I designed it.”
“No way.” Kojiro stared back. “You’re shitting me.”
“Alright. Then what does the acronym stand for?” Cherry challenged.
“Um, for uh…let’s see, um…Can A Really Likable Auto-mechanic-take-you-to-dinner-maybe?”
Cherry’s lips wobbled as he tried to hold back a smile. “Guess it depends if you actually fix my car or if you screw me. Over.”
“Oh shit,” Kojiro groaned, smiling all the while. “Carla, baby, help me out here.”
“Ew, don’t call her baby,” Cherry wrinkled his nose.
“But she likes it.”
“I assure you she does not.”
“How would you know?”
“I thought we just established I invented her—”
“So she is a her.” Kojiro grinned.
Cherry huffed and rolled his eyes. “Fine. But that’s all the more reason she doesn’t like being called ‘baby’ by some neanderthal mechanic who can’t even be bothered to wear a shirt with sleeves—”
“That’s because I’m actually just a stripper really dedicated to method-acting. This isn’t even anything.” Kojiro wiggled the little machine in his hand. “Really just an old Palm Pilot.”
“And to think, I narrowly dodged dinner with a stripper, the only thing worse than dinner with a serial killer. Thank goodness I came to my senses before it was too late—”
“Hey!” Kojiro laughed.
“And did you seriously just reference a Palm Pilot? You really are a serial killer, aren’t you?”
“Do people not use those anymore?” Kojiro teased. “I figured being a nerd you’d know what that was—”
“You will at least tell me some interesting stories before you kill me, right? Since I’m pretty sure you’re never going to figure out what’s wrong with my car.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa! That took a turn!”
Cherry burst out laughing and it was the most beautiful thing Kojiro had ever seen. Even more beautiful than a 5.7 Hemi V8. He mentally thanked the car gods for fucking up Cherry’s pretentious smart car and shorting it out right in front of his shop. Luckiest day of his life.
“So, tell me something—” Kojiro began.
“If you’re lucky.”
“You are such a brat,” Kojiro muttered, loving every minute. “You’re smart enough to invent Carla but not fix your own car?”
“Carla is the software,” Cherry said, plainly thinking Kojiro was an idiot. “I didn’t develop her for cars specifically. Another company then takes my software and markets it for different industries, uses, whatever.”
“Ahh,” Kojiro said thoughtfully. “So that’s why she’s like this.”
“Like what?” Cherry asked.
Kojiro shrugged, baiting him. “Just, y’know.”
“You said she’s brilliant and I’m a genius.”
“And that’s true—mostly. But every once in a while I think something doesn’t quite make sense or could be done a lot easier—”
“Are you saying Carla isn’t perfect?”
“Well…”
“So what would you change?” Cherry pressed. “Since you seem to think you’re a programmer now.”
“Don’t get all pissy,” Kojiro said patiently.
“I’m not pissy!” Cherry said, sounding a bit pissy, letting out a little huff. “Let me guess, you can’t figure out what’s wrong with my stupid car and now you’re going to blame it on my Carla—”
“Uh, this one is my Carla, thank you very much,” Kojiro corrected. “And your car isn’t stupid, it’s just…”
“It is stupid!” Cherry blurted. “I hate the stupid thing. It’s flashy and red and hideous and the engine is puny and the stupid thing spends more time checking my seatbelt or whatever the fuck it does than actually driving anywhere and it’s annoying and I despise it.”
Kojiro stared back, shocked (rightfully so) at Cherry’s tirade. “So then why did you buy it?”
“I didn’t,” Cherry snapped immediately, then blinked as he composed himself. He nervously thumbed his ring finger, habitually twisting a ring that wasn’t there. “My fiancé bought it for me.”
“O-oh,” Kojiro said, heart falling through the floor. So much for being the luckiest day of his life.
“This piece of shit has been malfunctioning now for four months,” Cherry continued. “Ever since he broke up with me. Guess I should’ve taken that as a sign.”
“Fuuuuck,” Kojiro exhaled, glaring at Cherry. “You had me worried.”
“About what?”
“Anyway, yes, it’s a sign. A big…big, uh, red one. Red for stop. Stop…seeing that guy.” Kojiro swallowed, nodding. “Yep.”
“Oh?” Cherry asked, a smirk on his lips and that eyebrow raised again. “That’s what you think that means?”
“Totally,” Kojiro said, then looked down at his handheld. “Oh, hey, we found the problem.”
“Don’t you mean my Carla found the problem?”
“No, this one is my Carla, though I might consider joint custody—”
“What’s wrong with my stupid car?”
“Error code D210. Never seen that one before.”
Cherry frowned. “So what does that mean? Error code D210?”
Kojiro grimaced, shaking his head slightly at the tiny screen. “Means: your ex is a douchebag and you should go to dinner with me.” He looked up at Cherry with a shrug. “Simple enough, at least.”
Cherry bit his lower lip to keep from smiling. “And that is the solution to fixing my car?”
“Hey, Carla doesn’t lie,” Kojiro said, setting “Carla” down and putting his hands up in surrender. “You’re the one that invented her, as you’re so fond of telling me, so you must’ve seen this coming—”
“What if I opt to just not fix it? Blow it up instead?”
“Well,” Kojiro cringed reluctantly. “I mean, either way, you still need a ride, right?”
Cherry’s eyes narrowed skeptically. “This was all part of your diabolical plan wasn’t it? Get me in your car so you can murder me. I knew you were a serial killer.” He made air quotes. “Joe.”
“Ha!” Kojiro held up a finger. “Nice try. But I ride a bike to work. No car.”
Cherry frowned. “How are you going to give me a ride on a bike? Though I guess that would explain those thighs—”
“No!” Kojiro laughed. “A motorcycle-bike. Not a pedal-bike.”
Cherry’s eyes lit up. “Lemme see.”
Pleasantly surprised, Kojiro grinned back. “Right this way.”
Leading Cherry out back, Kojiro flicked off the lights and locked the door behind them, turning just in time to see Cherry’s face, hungry and intense as he reverently trailed his fingertips over the handlebars.
“So?” Kojiro asked with a smile. “Wanna ride?”
“No,” Cherry answered, looking up slowly a second later. “I want to drive.”
“Oho!” Kojiro laughed. “I see, I see! This was all part of your diabolical plan, wasn’t it? Walk into my shop all pretty with some sob story about your broken car just to trick me into offering you a ride out of the goodness of my heart—”
“Your heart,” Cherry said with a glance to Kojiro’s groin. “Right.”
“The goodness of my heart,” Kojiro repeated. “Just so you could con your way into driving my Hayabusa.” He shook his head with a tsk tsk. “I bet you broke your car on purpose.”
“Oh no, you’ve foiled my plan,” Cherry said flatly. “I break my car at every mechanic I find just on the off chance they have a Suzuki Hayabusa out back I can straddle.”
Kojiro clenched his jaw at that, blowing a horny sigh out his nose. “You’re pretty sneaky, Cherry.”
“Kaoru,” Kaoru corrected, stepping closer. Too close. “My real name is Kaoru.”
“Kaoru,” Kojiro repeated, licking his bottom lip.
“Please?” Kaoru asked, voice sultry, lip out in a little pout and looking up at him with those sexy golden eyes and Kojiro knew he was in trouble. Well, more trouble. “I’ve been stuck in that stupid, wimpy, gutless car for almost a year. I just want some real power between my legs for a change.” He didn’t bother hiding a mischievous smile as he raised his eyebrows hopefully.
“Fuck,” Kojiro groaned, handing over his spare helmet.
If they survived the ride, he’d propose on the spot.