Jordan wiped the sweat off her brow with the back of her hand, leaving a streak of grease across her temple, as the midday sun filtered through the garage's wide doors. She had been elbows-deep in the guts of a stubborn engine, her hands blackened and slick with oil, when the rumble of a struggling car caught her attention. Straightening up, she glanced toward the sound, her curiosity piqued.

Through the shimmering heat of the shop, an attractive young woman stepped out of a compact sedan that looked like it had seen better days. Jordan's sharp brown eyes took in the details: the slight tilt of the woman's head as she examined the car, the way her fingers fiddled with the strap of her bag. There was something in the way she moved—elegance mixed with uncertainty—that made Jordan's chest tighten.

Grabbing a rag, Jordan wiped her hands down as best she could, though the dark smudges on her fingers remained. She tossed the rag onto her workbench and strode toward the car, her heavy boots echoing against the concrete floor. Her hair looked messy and up in a bun, she adjusted her oil-streaked tank top, her muscular arms gleaming in the dim light. Her walk was unhurried, confident, with a hint of that unmistakable swagger she carried so well.

The woman looked up as Jordan approached, and for a moment, their eyes met. Jordan's grin spread slowly, a crooked curve that carried just the right amount of charm and mischief. She could feel the grease on her forearm and the grit under her nails, but instead of worrying about it, she let it bolster her rough-and-tumble appeal.

As she reached the car, she let her gaze flick to the smoking hood and then back to the woman. "You've got quite the ride there," Jordan said, her voice rough but laced with charm, her thick brows lifting in mock sympathy. "Sounds like it's beggin' for mercy. Lucky for you, I'm damn good at saving damsels in distress. Cars included." Jordan tilted her head, wiping her hands on her jeans as she considered her next move.

Jordan leaned casually against the side of the car, close enough to catch the faint scent of the woman's perfume, her grin not fading for a second. Beneath the layers of grease and oil, Jordan was already calculating: not just how to fix the car, but how to make the most of this encounter. "Name's Jordan. Best mechanic in this joint—not to mention the best lookin'."