“Sure, Ry.”
Ryan walked out the rear exit, past the dumpster, to a small metal bistro table with a few chairs. He sat down and looked into the clear sky, the stars bright despite being in a city. One of the things he loved about Tucson—skies dark enough to appreciate the show Mother Nature put on every night.
Why was he so bothered by Elissa being here? She’d told him to fuck off. Nicely, but her meaning was crystal clear. Once a woman told him to go, he went and never looked back. But here she was, her eyes just as blue, her smile just as engaging as the one haunting his dreams. But those eyes and that smile weren’t meant for him. He’d fucked up.
That was it. It had been a decade since he’d so royally borked a first date. Hell, most women were more than happy to forgive him once they learned his last name. He’d never even gotten that far with Elissa. His pride was injured, another piece of evidence he was an asshole.
He wasn’t alone with his thoughts for long. Celeste, Iz’s aunt, walked out, sneaking a smoke break. Iz kept telling her to quit. So did he, but Celeste never listened.
“Who’s the girl, mijo?” She took a long drag on her cigarette.
“No one, Celeste.”
She chuckled knowingly. “You were watching her while she was here. It was a little creepy, to be honest, like you were stalking her.”
“I’m not stalking her. She came to my bar.”
“So, why were you watching her?”
“Ugh, I don’t wanna talk about it.”
Celeste took another drag on her cigarette and offered it to him. After he declined, she tossed it on the ground and twisted it out with her foot. She patted his shoulder.
“You’re a good man, Ryan DeMarco, and you’re a kind friend to our Iz.”
Ryan groaned again as Celeste walked back inside. He wasn’t a good man. He was a rich asshole who liked pissing off his parents and having a new woman on his arm every few weeks. Which, to be honest, was because he liked pissing off his parents.
Ryan took a deep breath of the cool evening air, trying not to smell the typical pungent odors behind a restaurant. An unmistakable grinding of an engine refusing to catch drew his attention around the side of the building. A car door slammed, and a strained voice broke the quiet of the evening.
“Bertha, baby, come on. Don’t do this to me.”
He knew that voice, but what was she still doing here? Slowly, so as not to spook her, he approached. Elissa stood in front of her car, a battered old BMW, with the hood raised. She shined the flashlight on her phone into the engine compartment, but from the look on her face—pursed lips twisted to the side and a lovely furrow in her brow—she had no clue what she was doing.
“Can I help you?” He kept his voice smooth and quiet.
It wasn’t good enough. She jumped and almost hit her head on the hood, then stepped back from him. Ryan held up his hand as the light tried to blind him.
“No, thank you. I’ll call AAA.” Her voice was prim with a slight tremble.
“You sure? It would only take a minute for me to take a look.”
“Do you even know what you’re looking for? You said you only worked on your own motorcycle.”
His mouth tried to twitch into a smile at her bitchy tone and the fact she’d remembered that detail about him, but he schooled it back into neutrality.
“I have an idea or two. I’ve learned my way around engines.” Iz’s dad had taught him in high school, and Ryan loved tinkering.
“I’m not some damsel in distress for you to rescue.”
“Never said you were. A lot of guys are clueless about engines, as much as we like to pretend otherwise. Plus, it’s kinda the least I could do after our date.” He owed her so much more than a quick look at her engine.
She arched an eyebrow at him. Oh dear God, she was fucking adorable when she tried to look disapproving. But instead of giving her his panty-dropping smile, he tried to look chagrinned. It was hard—those muscles hadn’t gotten a workout lately. Perhaps he was letting his ego grow a bit too much.
“Yes, it is.” Her tone softened, and she gestured broadly at the engine compartment, a game show girl revealing a prize.
Ryan had his own phone out and shined the light over the engine. Everything looked in order. In fact, for a car over a decade old, things were in great shape.
“Your battery’s probably dead. We keep a jump starter in the office. Come inside with me while I find it. You don’t need to be out here alone in the dark. The guy you were with should’ve stayed.”
