Sandor was elbow-deep in a Pontiac's engine when the shop phone rang over the sound of Eddie Van Halen's guitar solo blaring from the radio. By the third ring, he shifted his gaze through the large window separating the front of the shop from the garage. Behind the counter, Selmy still haggled with the son-of-bitch trying to talk him down in price on a full transmission repair. In the next bay over, another mechanic, Lenny, was fitting a tire to a rim and blissfully ignoring the phone.
Sandor cursed beneath his breath and carefully removed his arms from beneath the hood. He wiped his hands on the front of his pants, although it hardly eliminated all the grease smeared across his fingers. When he reached the wall, he snatched up the phone and pushed the receiver to his ear.
"Selmy's Auto Repair. Sandor speaking," he grumbled, more curt than Barristan would've been happy with and his agitation glaringly apparent. His expertise was in fixing cars, not customer service. He left that bullshit up to Selmy who was leaps and bounds better at smoothing over issues with customers.
"Sandor?"
The voice on the other end faltered, seeming to pick up on his irritation. The receiver nearly slipped from his greasy fingers. Sansa's voice was uniquely feminine, her words swathed in sweetness.
"Yeah?"
"This is Sansa." The words came hesitant, as if certain she would have to remind him who she was.
It had been over a week since he last saw her, but she had invaded his thoughts on many occasions since then. He tried to put her out of his mind as he went through the motions of oil changes, tune ups, and tire rotations during the day and band practice at night. Somehow, she had burrowed herself into his memory—something that both exhilarated and vexed him.
When he didn't respond right away, Sansa continued, voice still heavy with uncertainty.
"You know, the girl who came to your band practice last week?"
Sandor smiled into the phone and said nothing as she continued.
"My sister was with me. And her boyfriend, Gendry?" Sansa's tone came softer and her words inflected at the end so that her statements sounded more like questions.
"Hmm. I don't know. Doesn't ring a bell. Are you sure you have the right number?" Sandor stifled a chuckle as an exasperated sigh flittered from the other end of the line.
"I was the one with red hair."
"I meet so many redheads…" Sandor's voice trailed off and he waited for Sansa's response.
"You gave me a ride home on your motorcycle. Remember? I live in Winnetka." By now, she was damn near pleading and her disheartenment was obvious. With that, Sandor gave up the charade.
"Oh! Sansa. That's right. The sorority girl. Now I remember." He could've sworn he heard a tiny sigh of relief on he end before she began again.
"Yeah. Hi. You gave me your card and, as it so happens, my car completely gave out on me just now."
He felt bad for her, he really did. However, Sandor couldn't help the wicked grin that spread across his face. She was calling him for help.
He leaned against the wall with one arm crossed over his chest. "Where are you? Are you with the car?"
In the background, he could hear the din of traffic. It sounded as if she was outside, stranded more than likely.
"Yes. Well…no," she replied, obviously flustered. "I'm at a gas station a few blocks from the car. I'm in kind of a rough part of town on the south side."
Wordless, Sandor nodded and the grin disappeared from his lips.
"Alright. Tell me where you are, and I'll come and get you. Then I can take a look at the car."
With the phone tucked between his shoulder and chin, Sandor snatched up a pen and a scrap of paper from the workbench next to him. Sansa relayed her location, and Sandor scribbled it down, trying to mentally locate where in the city she was. True to her word, it was a shitty part of town and nowhere for the likes of Sansa Stark to be.
"Okay. Stay at the gas station. I'll be there in a few minutes." Sandor hung up and grabbed the keys to the shop's tow truck.
He was familiar with the area Sansa was stranded in. Years ago, he had played gigs at a hole-in-the-wall venue a few blocks north. During the day, there was nothing much to worry about, perhaps a few bums panhandling for spare change. By night, though, it was a different story.
Peeking his head through the door separating the front desk, Sandor called out to Barristan who had finally rid himself of his pesky customer and looked none too pleased about the whole ordeal.
"I got a call for a tow on the south side. I'll be back in a bit. The serpentine belt is about shot on the Pontiac and they should probably look into flushing their brake fluid."
Barristan nodded his head with a distracted smile and his eyes wandered back towards the stack of paperwork in front of him. Taking that as his cue to leave, Sandor strode outside and towards the tow truck and hopped in the driver's seat.
The drive to the gas station took longer than he would've imagined. Every asshole in town was out and about at this particular moment. Sandor shook his head and chuckled to himself, remembering clearly that he had considered giving Sansa his card a crap shoot.
In all honesty, he hadn't expected to hear from her. She was a prep—a sorority girl who was well-to-do and probably had only paid him false courtesies through fake smiles. He had wholly expected her to drift away into obscurity, never to be heard from again. Sandor would have liked to say he could have cared less, but the truth was she had inexplicably crawled beneath his skin—an uncomfortable and disconcerting notion.
When he pulled into the small gas station situated amongst decrepit buildings and rotting facades, Sandor spotted Sansa sitting on the curb outside the mini-mart, knees pulled to her chest and chin resting on knees. At the sound of the diesel engine, her head popped up and bright blue eyes flooded with relief. She pushed herself up from the curb and headed towards the passenger door in quick steps.
Sandor leaned over the seat and pushed the door open. He took Sansa's bag from her as she climbed into the truck. As she settled in the seat, Sandor couldn't help but steal a glance at her. Once again, his memory had diminished her beauty. The last time he had the effects of alcohol to blame. This time it had likely been the side effect of pushing her out of his mind every chance he could. She wasn't made up like most of the chicks that hung around the band. It was obvious the girl was naturally stunning, a characteristic he found incredibly appealing.
"Thank you so much." She considered him with wide, grateful eyes as if he were some sort of savior or perhaps her knight in shining armor. If that was the case, the girl was going to be solely disappointed. He was certainly no fucking knight.
"Just doing my job," he replied as he carefully maneuvered the truck in reverse.
As he turned over his shoulder to look out the rear window, Sandor's arm settled on the headrest of Sansa's seat. Although he was focused on getting the truck out of the lot without backing into a gas pump or another car, he saw out of his periphery that she was staring at him. It wasn't the brazenly obvious leers he regarded her with, but manifested in shy glances that lingered a bit too long to be insignificant.
"You see something you like?" He pulled his arm away and put the truck into drive.
His gaze settled on Sansa just long enough to watch as her eyes dart away from him and her mouth fall open, the embarrassment obvious.
"No…I…" She stopped herself short of stammering and Sandor remembered now how easily he could get her to blush. Her cheeks flushed as she turned to him.
"If you turn left, it's down the second street on the right," she spoke softly and nervously twirled a lock of hair around a slender finger.
Sandor said nothing and nodded, noting how her hair fell in long waves over her shoulders. He didn't know jack shit about what women did to their hair, but he knew he preferred how Sansa wore hers compared to the way most girls teased the hell out of theirs and sprayed it with a fuck-ton of hairspray.
Silence continued between them as Sandor flicked on his blinker and waited for his opportunity to turn out of the gas station. He never paid much attention to lulls in conversation and could happily sit in silence with other people, not noticing whatever awkwardness others perceived. If the tension growing between him and Sansa was anything to go by, she was the opposite, and her discomfort at the quiet was made obvious as she began to speak.
"I hope it wasn't too much trouble coming to get me and all," she began almost apologetically and clearly failed to realize that it was his job to do shit like this. "I was coming from my dad's office downtown and there was a detour. I'm not really familiar with this part of town and I must have gotten turned around or missed a turn. Anyway, I just kept going and going and before I knew it I was here. Obviously, I wouldn't think this would be part of the detour, so I decided to turn around and head back from the direction I came. When I did, I killed the engine and then it just wouldn't come back on. I didn't have a dime on me to call anyone, so I had to ask this old woman for one. I figured you'd be the best person to call, and luckily I still had your card."
Sansa finished her monologue and took a deep breath that seemed to loosen any residual nervousness. Gazing over at her, Sandor shook his head and exhaled a laugh as he pulled the truck out on the main road.
She stared at him. "What's so funny?" Her auburn eyebrows knitted together in confusion, lips pursed to the extent of looking pouty. He had almost, almost forgotten about his fascination with her lips. This was enough to jar his memory as he watched her lick her bottom lip before offering him a timid smile.
"You're like one of those birds that sit outside my bedroom window and chirp their little heads off right before the sun starts to rise, which is usually about the time I'm finally getting to sleep."
It was meant to be a joke, a little jab at the fact that she was a nervous talker. His sentiment seemed to float over her head and just like that Sansa's smile faded and she quickly averted her eyes from him.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I talk too much sometimes."
Sandor could have laughed again as she apologized to him after he had been a prick. He eased the tow truck in front of her car and put it into park.
With her head downturned, Sansa stared at her hands folded in her lap. Resting one elbow on the center console between them, Sandor cupped her chin with one hand and forced her to look at him. Without much prompting on his part, Sansa obliged, staring at him wide-eyed and with lips parted in surprise at his touch.
"It was a joke…little bird," Sandor affirmed with a grin and watched a small, relieved smile play across her lips before she lowered her gaze and blushed. He stared at her lips, toying with the wild idea of pressing his mouth to hers. She was close enough to him and hadn't shifted away. It would be purely impulsive and indulgent on his part. As moments passed, the tension was on the rise once more, statically charged with whatever flowed between them.
Sandor swallowed hard and decided to pull away before he did something stupid. He was on a job, after all. Off the job, it'd be different. In quick, fluid movements, he pushed open the door and slid out of his truck. Sansa had followed him to her car and popped open the hood. Sandor settled in front of it.
With the hood open, he instructed her to try to turn the car on. After a few unsuccessful tries, Sandor investigated the usual suspects for this problem. Sansa stood next to him—far enough away to not interfere with his work but close enough that he could see her watching him. This wasn't a curious gaze as his hands inspected various parts of the engine. And it wasn't a bored, glazed over stare as she waited for her car's diagnosis. No, she was staring and taking her chance to contemplate him as intently as he contemplated her, the only difference being he didn't care if she saw him doing it.
"I'm only going to keep letting you eye fuck me if you make good on it one of these days." Sandor turned a devilish smile to Sansa whose gaze fled somewhere else, for all the good it did.
"I'm not eye—" She stopped herself short of repeating his words. "I'm not doing that. I'm just watching what you're doing to my car."
Sandor released a grumbling chuckle and turned towards her. She was blushing again, her cheeks redder than he had ever seen them, as she appeared wholly scandalized by his suggestion.
"Bullshit. You don't know a damn thing about what I'm doing to your car."
Sansa's eyes flickered away again and she crossed her arms tight over her chest. She seemed to be pouting, perhaps perturbed that she couldn't get away with leering at him as he could with her or maybe still embarrassed that he caught her in the act.
"My best guess is it's the battery, a spark plug, or the transmission." Sandor closed the hood. "All in the order of how expensive it's going to be to repair. I'll tow it back to the shop. We're booked for the next few days, so the earliest I could even look at it would be Monday."
"Okay," Sansa replied and bit her lip with apparent disappointed at the timeline. With today being Thursday, he didn't quite know what she expected. The shop was always busiest during the weekends, and he couldn't make an exception for her just because she was some rich girl or because he wouldn't mind one bit fucking her senseless.
"What's wrong?" he demanded, perhaps a bit too harshly. He fully expected her to complain about how long her car was going to be in the shop and maybe even ask him to do her a favor by looking at it sooner.
"My chemistry lab starts in fifteen minutes. I'm going to miss it." Her gaze drifted to her watch.
Her answer surprised him; not that he didn't think she was studious, but mostly because she wasn't bitching about her car. In fact, she didn't seem too concerned about it, but instead was more disappointed at missing class.
Sandor never went to college, deciding academics weren't in the cards for him. He learned his trade as a mechanic and, in his down time, fucked around on the guitar. The success of Cannibal Star was never anything he chased after. It just happened. Regardless, even he knew missing one class wasn't the end of the fucking world and would hardly spell disaster for Sansa, especially given the fact that she had a legitimate excuse for skipping.
"Shit happens," he shrugged, his attempt at making the girl feel better, although he knew it was shit for solace. "Chemistry lab sounds boring as fuck anyway. You're probably not missing much."
A slow smile crept across her lips as she stared up at him and gave a small nod. She didn't let her eyes fall away, but instead continued to hold his gaze. Sandor wasn't sure if she was about to say something or was waiting for a prompt from him. Either way, he found it was now he who was having a hard time keeping her stare. He felt the need to look away as the air between them grew heavy once more—not uncomfortable, but still unsettling in a way he wasn't quite used to.
"If you want to wait in the truck, I'll get your car hooked up." He looked away and cursed himself for doing so. There was no reason for him to be acting as if he had never been around a beautiful woman before. He had been around plenty and never before had this bullshit happened.
He didn't wait for Sansa's response, but instead stepped away from her, grateful now for some distraction as he went about getting her car hooked up to the truck. He went through the familiar motions. He had done this more times than he could count, and yet he had to repeat certain steps, his hands and mind clearly suffering from a disconnect.
Her effect on him was unnerving. Over the past week, he had chocked it up needing to get laid. It was purely a primal reaction to a pretty girl. However, Cannibal Star's gigs never failed to produce an enclave of attractive women for him to indulge in, but he never caught himself thinking about them after the fact. He was left to wonder why Sansa was so different. He hadn't even kissed the girl, for fuck's sake.
When his task was done, Sandor climbed into the truck and headed back towards the shop. He avoided her gaze that was on him once more in sideways glances and curious stares. He decided it would be best to treat this like he would any other customer— distant, professional, only conversing when necessary and about vehicles only. If she wanted to ask him about her spark plugs, he would answer. Beyond that, he forced his eyes and thoughts to remain on the road.
They continued on in silence save for the low murmur of the radio. He could tell she was growing uncomfortable with his reticence and would likely start chirping again soon. Before too long, he'd probably get caught up in answering questions like what his favorite color was, if he thought the Berlin Wall would ever come down, if the Blackhawks would go to the playoffs this year.
He knew little about Sansa, but enough to anticipate her questions. He allowed himself a small smile when she finally broke the silence.
"How long have you been a mechanic?" she asked and glanced at him once more.
"Look, you don't have to do that," he replied flatly. It was better for both of them if he shut this down sooner rather than later. She didn't need to waste her manners on him and he wouldn't have to suffer through questions she couldn't care less about the answers to.
"Do what?" Her voice came dejected. "I was just asking a question."
Sandor's jaw tensed and, when they were stopped at a red light, he turned to her.
"I don't like small talk for the sake of filling up dead air. You don't have to pretend you're interested in what the fuck it is I do with my life."
As soon as the words left his lips, Sandor knew they were uncalled for and held some sort of bitterness to them, although he wasn't exactly sure where it was coming from. Perhaps he was unwilling to let himself believe Sansa would actually give a shit about wanting to get to know him. He assumed questions like this were a product of polished manners and nothing more.
He expected her to avert her eyes, to turn away and resume the ride in silence. Maybe she would pout after being called out, or perhaps she would get pissed and finally realize her courtesies were lost on him. Sansa did none of these things, and instead seemed to steel herself, unwilling to back down so easily against his biting words.
"Did it ever occur to you that maybe I am interested? Or are you always this rude?" Crossing her arms over her chest, she stared at him as she awaited an answer. Sandor had come to expect a lot of things out of this girl—bouts of blushing, shy smiles, timid conversation—but this sudden flash of assertiveness was not one of them.
He was the one now shocked into silence as he turned his attention to the road when the light turned green. He felt like a jackass. It had, in fact, not exactly occurred to him that she might be genuinely interested. He wasn't a pretty boy jock she was probably used to running around with. He wasn't going to college. He wasn't from a wealthy background. Despite the relative fame of being in Cannibal Star, he lived a modest lifestyle. Though loath to admit it, Sansa was out of his league in more ways than one.
Despite all of this, it seemed he was making a bigger deal out of it than she was. With his guard coming down a bit, Sandor sighed and glanced at Sansa.
"Twelve years," he said. "I went to trade school after getting my GED. After two years of that, I started working at Selmy's shop off and on for the past ten years."
The admission dated him, Sandor knew. That may very well be another thing working against them. He would turn thirty this year and she probably wasn't even old enough to drink yet.
Sansa remained quiet as she stared straight ahead with her arms still crossed defensively about her chest. As the silence wore on between them, Sandor now took up the burden of discomfort. With each passing moment of Sansa not uttering a word, he was growing increasingly convinced that he had blown it. Only minutes earlier, she was happily willing to engage in conversation. Now she had turned into an ice queen—stoic, unwavering, and utterly quiet.
"What are you studying in school?" Sandor grumbled. He knew she heard him; from the corner of his eye, he could see her stir in her seat. He waited for a response and, when he didn't get one, he found it aggravated him much more than it should have.
"Are you not going to answer me?" he demanded, his frustration rising. She was the one who wanted to make small talk in the first place and now she was purposely blowing him off.
"Apologize first," Sansa replied haughtily and looked out the window.
"What?" Sandor snapped in response and leveled an irritated stare at her.
"For being rude." She turned to him, chin tipped up as she held her head high. "You should apologize."
Sandor erupted into sardonic laughter as he shook his head. This girl was out of her mind if she thought he was going to apologize to her. He refused to apologize for being honest, for calling out the fact that she was baiting him into conversations that she couldn't give a shit about at the end of the day. Perhaps there was a chance that he may have been wrong, but that was besides the point and his pride wouldn't let him admit that now.
"No," he fired back. "I answered your question. You got what you wanted." Sandor pulled the tow truck behind the back of Selmy's shop where he spotted an empty space for Sansa's car.
"And now I want an apology," Sansa reasoned firmly. Once more, Sandor was taken aback. She was stubborn, almost as stubborn as he was. This was shaping up to be a battle of wills.
Sandor put the truck into park and turned to her. He saw the beginnings of a smile form on her lips and her eyes shone with a play glint. He gave a faint nod and narrowed his eyes at her, but returned her smile with a smug grin. When he killed the engine, silence crept between them once more.
He let his gaze roam the features of her face. He considered her eyes, which were a brilliant shade of blue, large and round; her nose, delicate and upturned at the end; her lips, full and ripe for the taking. Slowly, Sandor leaned closer towards her, his upper body hovering over the center console as one arm reached across, and his hand settled on the arm rest next to the passenger side door.
Sandor could see the rise and fall of Sansa's chest. He fixed his stare on her lips, the object of his fascination, and he noticed how they parted with what he could only call anticipation. Lifting her chin, Sansa tilted her head slightly, making her lips all the more accessible to him, if he wanted them. And God, how he wanted them. The space between them was mere inches and filled with mutual exhilaration as Sandor matched her eyes and lowered his voice.
"You want an apology, do you?" he murmured close to her lips, eliciting a shudder to move through her if the ragged little breath escaping that perfect mouth of hers was anything to go by. "Well, little bird, we can't always get what we want. Maybe it's about time someone teach you that."
Sandor gripped the door handle on her side as he pulled away from her slightly. She was blushing furiously, as he knew she would be, but he hadn't expected to see the desire, and now disappointment, lingering in her eyes.
"Here. I'll get that for you." He pushed her door open with a devious smile.
He pulled the keys from the engine and hopped out of the truck. He circled around to the back and began unhooking Sansa's car. He smiled to himself and shook his head. The look on her face had been priceless—confusion, embarrassment, and dare he say, devastation at the abrupt halt to what she had anticipated from him. The girl couldn't actually think he would kiss her right then and there with his co-workers and boss meandering about somewhere. No, if he was going to finally claim her mouth, it would be at the right place and time; somewhere where they wouldn't be interrupted, he could give her lips all the attention they deserved. Besides, it was a lot more than just a kiss he wanted to give her.
After a few moments, Sansa circled around to the back of the truck with her bag thrown over her shoulder and her hands folded in front of her. She was still flushed a deep shade of pink and her eyes were at her feet.
"I'll see if my dad can come and pick me up. Is there a phone I can use?" Sansa's eyes flickered towards him, but didn't remain there long. "Also, if you have a phone book as well, that would be great."
With his hands preoccupied, Sandor motioned to the shop. "Head right through that side door and the lobby is straight ahead. Whoever is behind the desk can let you use the phone and give you a phone book to use."
She stared up at him with a small, grateful smile before turning away. After unrigging her car and maneuvering it into the empty parking space, Sandor returned the tow truck to its spot in the lot and headed inside.
With a phone book and the phone resting on the counter of the front desk, Sansa had the receiver pushed to her ear, her brow furrowed as she twirled and untwirled the cord around her finger. Behind the desk, Lenny had propped up his feet and was nose deep in a magazine. As Sandor came around the back of the counter, Lenny lowered the magazine and waggled his brows before discreetly tipping his head to Sansa.
Sandor followed the man's gaze, thankful that the girl hadn't seen. The last thing Sansa needed was Lenny leering at her. Sandor could manage that just fine on his own.
"Get lost," Sandor grumbled at Lenny. The man lowered his magazine and retreated to the garage. Sandor grabbed a pen and began filling out the paperwork for Sansa's car. With his shift for today pretty much over, the rest of it could be filled out later. In front of him, Sansa sighed and hung up the phone receiver.
"I can't get a hold of anyone," she informed quietly. "My dad left early from work and my mom isn't at home."
Without lifting his eyes, Sandor continued filling out the paperwork as he tried in earnest to quell the grin that formed on his lips.
"So you'll be needing a ride, I take it," he said flatly. He shuffled through the folders on the desk and placed Sansa's paperwork in the Monday file.
"Yes, if you don't mind," she replied on a soft voice, clearly disconcerted by her situation.
"Just can't get enough, can you?" Sandor tossed the folder on top of a short stack of paperwork. Sansa let out a nervous giggle and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.
"Yeah, I'll give you a ride, if you say please." Sandor crossed his arms and gauged her reaction.
Wide-eyed, Sansa's gaze flew up to him, her mouth opening and then closing as if she couldn't quite manage a response. "Wouldn't want to be rude now, would you?" he continued with a smug grin.
"You can't be serious." Sansa exhaled a laugh and stared at him in disbelief.
Sandor uncrossed his arms and pressed his hands to the counter. He leaned towards her and matched her eyes as he lowered his voice.
"You can't imagine how serious I am about giving you a ride and making you say please."
Sandor knew he was toeing the line with this girl. Eventually, he was going to cross that line, and she was going to either deck him like she should have the night they met or tell him to take a hike. And once more, Sandor was surprised when she did neither. Instead, she pressed her lips together to stop her own smile from forming and shook her head.
"You're terrible," she whispered and laughed once more. The girl had a sense of humor and took his outlandish and inappropriate statements in stride; yet another wildly attractive quality to her.
"I'm just being honest," Sandor countered with a shrug. "Now, say please."
"Please." Her response was reluctant and her lips inadvertently pouted as she stared up at him.
Sandor had to give it to her: she was damn near irresistible like this and hard to say no to, not that he was planning on denying her what she needed right now. Still, he knew it would be dangerous if she knew how easily she could get what she wanted out of him by a small pout of those gorgeous lips and a doe-eyed stare.
"Are you hungry?" he asked, realizing now he hadn't had time to eat lunch and his stomach was descending into grumbles. Beyond that, he wouldn't exactly mind extending this impromptu run-in with Sansa.
"Yeah, I am actually." Her eyes lit up as she smiled at him.
"Me too. We'll get a bite on the way." Sandor grabbed up his leather jacket and bike helmet "It'll be on me," he continued as she met him at the end of the counter.
Standing in front him, Sansa quirked an eyebrow at him, arms crossed about her chest as she gazed at him expectantly.
"You can call it an apology of sorts," Sandor conceded with a half-smile and led the way out the door and towards his Harley in the parking lot.