“A while. Twenty minutes, maybe.”
“Do you have a coat?”
I shiver again. “In my bags in the trunk.”
Mentally, I kick myself for being in this situation. I should’ve gotten the earlier flight from Dallas, and I never should’ve trusted the navigation in this rental car. Ten minutes wasn’t worth a gravel road after a storm.I knew better. And now, here I am, paying the price for my foolishness.
My best friend, Calista, tried to get me a tow truck. I called her as soon as I pulled over in a semi-panic. Before she could get my location, her boss beckoned her, and I forced her to go.
Now I wish I would’ve let her call for help.
“Any chance you’re out of coolant?” he asks.
Really?“I don’t know. If I knew that, I’d grab the sports drink out of my trunk and pour it into the radiator.”
“A sports drink?” His brows rise. “Tell me you’re kidding.”
“What? I was once stranded on the 405 with a similar issue. The internet said it would work, and it did. But I didn’t check the gauges before I shut it off this time, so I’m not sure it was overheating, and I’m too scared to start it again to see.” I sigh. “This is a rental, anyway. I don’t know this car’s quirks.”
“The 405?”
I sigh and shiver again. “Yes. A highway in LA.”
“You’re from LA?”
“Can we focus, please? I’m freezing.”
Whether he scoffs or snorts, I’m not sure. But the motion causes a whiff of his peppery yet sweet cologne to roll through the air and envelop me. My core tightens as if the scent is an invitation to climb him like a tree.
It’s not.
He slips his jacket off, clearly annoyed. “Just pop your hood.”
It’s a command punctuated by adon’t fuck with melook—a look that’s so hot I’m pretty sure the look I give him in return saysplease fuck with me.
His jeans are dirty as if he’s been working all day. His hands are thick and strong—and ringless.I can’t help but notice that. He maintains a respectable distance as we chat, and despite his evident irritation at stopping,he didn’t just drive by.
That has to say something about his character … I hope.
Still, my risk assessment isn’t scientific, and his broad shoulders probably contaminate it.
This is why I’m not a scientist.
“How do I know you know what you’re doing?” I ask, my gaze dropping to his lips. “You could get under my hood and do bad things to me.”
Oops.
A faint smirk settles on his lips at my unfortunate choice of words.Damn you, Freud.
“I meant that you could permanently disable my car and leave me stranded,” I say.
He doesn’t buy my pathetic attempt at an excuse. “Sure.”
“Look, maybe I should just call a tow truck,” I say because that’s easier than crawling in a mud puddle and dying.
“That’s fine. But let me give you a little heads-up.”
“What about?”
