I’d just finished replacing the brake pads on Mrs. Brewington’s Toyota—she’d worn them down almost to the metal—when Roy got my attention. “Hey, Logan. Got a customer here who needs new spark plugs, and Scott’s in the middle of something right now.”
“Got it.” I wiped my hands on an already dirty towel and wandered out back to where the customers usually left their cars to be worked on.
There was only one vehicle waiting, and wouldn’t you know it? The guy leaning against the driver’s side door was the instructor from my twice-a-week night class. I felt dirty in Wayne’s presence, with a huge grease stain on the right leg of my overalls while he wore clean, pressed cargo shorts and a plain red T-shirt that fit too well on his toned, muscular build for my sanity. There were sweat stains unde
