Usually, I don’t get messages before I pick people up, but whatever. She must be in a rush. I wait, engine idling, watching the front door.
Thensheappears.
Long, wavy red hair catches the light, tumbling over her shoulders in a way that makes me stare longer than I should. Glasses are perched on her nose. Curves that would make a weaker man stumble over his words. She’s wearing a quirky vintage band tee and jeans that hug her hips just right.
Not my usual type.
But fuck if something doesn’t shift in my chest when I see her face.
She’s crying.
Not just tearing up, full-on sobbing as she rushes toward my car, clutching a bag against her chest like it’s the only thing tethering her together. The corner streetlight illuminates the tear tracks on her cheeks, and something protective roars to life in my gut.
She yanks open the back door and collapses into the seat, a broken sound escaping her throat.
I turn in my seat, concern overriding everything else. “Hey, are you okay?”
She looks up at me through those glasses, mascara smudged under her eyes, and shakes her head. “No. Not even a little bit.”
“You wanna talk about it?” I keep my voice gentle, the same tone I use with Queenie when she’s having a rough day.
She laughs, but it’s bitter and sharp. “My boyfriend, sorry, my ex-boyfriend, just broke up with m-me.” Her voice cracks. “Said I wasn’t the rightsizefor his friend group. That maybe when I lose a few pounds, I should reach back out to him.”
Rage flares hot and fast in my veins. “Are you fucking serious?”
“Dead serious.” She wipes at her face with the back of her hand. “Apparently, I’m an embarrassment.”
I twist fully in my seat now, meeting her eyes with an intensity that makes her blink. “Well…fuck him!” She stares at me. “Seriously! Fuck that guy.” I gesture at her like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You look damn fine to me.Real fucking good.Anyone who can’t see that is a goddamn cunt who doesn’t deserve you—” I stop myself, realizing I am providing a service, and I’m not at the clubhouse. “Sorry about the language, ma’am.”
Her eyes widen behind those glasses, fresh tears welling up, but this time there’s something different in them. Something lighter. “You think I look good?”
“Hell, yeah.” I flash her a genuine smile. “So, fuck him, right? His loss.”
A surprised laugh breaks free from her chest, watery and small, but real. “Yeah. You know what? Fuck him!Fuck that cunt!”
Smiling widely, I nod my head once and turn back to face the front. “There you go.” I shift the car into drive, glancing at her in the rearview mirror. “Now, you still wanna go to the address in the app?”
“Yeah, it’s my best friend’s house. She’s letting me crash there until I can figure something out.”
I nod, but an idea strikes me.
This girl needs more than just a ride.
She needs to feel like she matters.
“You hungry?” I ask.
She blinks at me through the mirror. “What?”
“When’s the last time you ate?”
She thinks about it, then shrugs helplessly. “Lunch, maybe?”
I look at the clock on the dashboard, seeing it’s well past midnight. “That’s what I thought.” I crank up the radio, letting classic rock pour through the speakers. “First, we’re fixing this night. Buckle up.”
I take a turn toward the nearest drive-thru, and when the opening chords of Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believin’” blast through the car, I start singing along, loud and completely off-key.
She stares at me like I’ve lost my damn mind.
