I was in the last year of my journalism degree when we had to write an article for the uni newspaper. My story was on apprenticeships, so one afternoon I went down to my local petrol station looking for a young mechanic to interview.
The owner of the garage was super nice and keen to help me out. Yelling across the workshop floor, he called his trainee over to have a chat.
And holy hell, he was hot.
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Peering out from under a bonnet, he had thick, dark brown hair, the bluest eyes I’d ever seen and big arms bulging out of a black t-shirt. Wiping his palms down oil stained pants, he walked around the car towards us.
After a quick introduction, Adam said he would be happy to help, and I fired off my questions about life as an apprentice. He’d just turned 18 and was so shy, it was adorable.
I knew I had to have him.
At home that night, I typed up his answers into my article, flicking back to the photos I’d taken of Adam after the interview. Posing under the hood of a truck and leaning across the engine, he was so sexy without even realising it.
Hovering my fingers above the keyboard, I put his name into Facebook and it came up with half a dozen mutual friends. It turns out he’d gone to the local high school and, while he was a few years younger than me, we had friends in common – mostly those who went to a nightclub by the beach every Saturday.
With only a minor hesitation, I hit 'add friend'.