“I own the mechanic shop,” he states looking in the direction of the alley.OH!
My cheeks get hot, embarrassed that I overlooked that detail. “Gotcha,” I say. Brilliant. Just brilliant. I am usually inept in the company of an attractive male, but this is ridiculous. He quirks an eyebrow and looks at me. I can’t tell if he is amused, or if he finds me annoying. His admission isn’t exactly an offer to fix it.
He rubs his hand through his dark hair again and sighs. “It shouldn’t be hard to fix, but I need to order a part. I can have it done tomorrow or the next day.”
I blink in surprise and then in dread. I’m mentally calculating how much money I have left until payday, so I miss what he says. He is looking at me quizzically. Shrugging, I ask, “What was that?” He already thinks I am a moron; I should just confirm it for him.
“Do. You. Need. A. Ride. Home,” he asks slowly, his perfect mouth enunciated clearly. He is staring at me, smirking. Isn’t this where the audience is screaming at the damsel in distress to say no? Oh, what the hell—I seem to be taking all the risks tonight. Slowly, I say, “yes”.
He grunts as he shuts the hood and says, “You can leave it parked here for the night.” He stalks off towards the alley again, not waiting for me to follow. I open the door of my truck and lunge across the seat to grab my belongings, praying thatnothing happens to my only mode of transportation overnight. I slam the door of my truck shut and hustle around the front, hoping that I haven’t been left behind. At this point, my options are pretty limited. My phone battery is in the red, flashing 8% at me.
“Here goes nothing,” I mumble. I find him leaning up against the alley with his arms crossed. I barely catch up and he is already turning and on the way towards the door. His long strides chew up the pavement. I’m practically jogging to keep pace and trying not to sound winded.
He pulls open the door and I follow him inside. I’m trying not to trip over my own feet. He stops suddenly and I plow into him from behind. “Sorry, sorry,” spills out of my lips as my arms flail. He turns around and steadies me. I can’t seem to get my cheeks to revert back to their natural color. His hands linger on my upper arms and I look down at my feet. Backing away, I shake my head. “You don’t talk much do you,” I ask.
He grunts, a response that seems as natural as breathing to him. “I don’t feel the need to fill the silence with unnecessary chatter.” He states, pointedly.As if I have been the chatterbox?I clench my teeth, trying to curb the need to respond to his obvious insult.
Following him through his shop, I notice that it is tidy and clean. Not the usual auto shop. I’m taking it all in and following him at the same time. I’m dying to ask his name, but don’t want to fill the silence with‘unnecessary chatter’.Rolling my eyes, I continue forward. The shop is spacious and can easily hold 3 or 4 vehicles at a time. I watch him shut lights off as we go and grab his keys. He turns and waits for me to exit out the door by the parking lot. While he is setting the alarm, I head to what I assume is his vehicle. It is an older Ford pick- up truck. The two-tone blue and cream paint job is respectably faded, indicating it is original. If I had to guess, I would say itwas an early 70s model. I hear his footsteps come up behind me and turn.
“Nice truck,” I say—hoping that I didn’t add to his quotient of superfluous conversation with my compliment. I start to rub my temple. Feeling the start of a tell-tale migraine coming on. Of course, why not add that to the night. “Thanks,” he mutters giving me a curious look.
“It’s unlocked, you can get in,” he says. He opens his door and slides in behind the steering wheel. Putting the key in the ignition, the truck starts smoothly. I hustle to get in and plop down on the passenger side, pulling the heavy door shut. My hand immediately goes to my head and presses. The pressure starting in the back of my skull. I’m closing my eyes and I hear him clear his throat.
“Did you hit your head in the alley,” he asks, neutrally. I glance at him sideways and shake my head to answer no. I am in for a big one, and I don’t have my prescription on me. I have 15 minutes before I will need to lay down. I’m mentally calculating how far my cottage is from here.Too far.Why didn’t I bring my other purse? I’m not normally such a mess. He clears his throat again. I crack open my eye and look at him.
“Where am I taking you,” he asks gruffly. Right, we don’t even know each other’s names. How would he know my address?
“About 25 minutes away, off of 64 East,” I murmur. I rattle my address off and keep my eyes closed.
“You live that far out of town,” he sounds exasperated. Suddenly, I feel like I am a huge imposition.
“I’m sorry, if it is too far--,” I start to respond and am interrupted.
“I didn’t say that,” he sighs. “I’m just surprised, that’s all.”
Putting the truck in drive he pulls forward towards the main drag. I close my eyes and rest the side of my head againstthe cool window. Trying to decide if I should let him know that in about 10 minutes, I will start to lose the vision in at least one of my eyes and that every noise that was made in the truck sounded like it was 20 times louder than it actually was. Oh—and there was about a 40% chance I may need him to pull over, so I don’t toss my cookies all over the interior of his truck. I’m sure he would really like me then. I would roll my eyes at myself— if they weren’t killing me.
Chapter 2
Sterling
This night was not turning out how I thought it would. I didn’t expect to throw out and fire the only help I had at the shop. I didn’t have much choice though. They were dealing drugs and parting out stolen vehicles in the shop after hours. Which was exactly why I “forgot” something in my office and had to come back after hours. I wanted to catch them in the act and make sure they found some place far away to continue their antics. I should have listened to my gut with those two. My gut also forced me out to the alley to make sure they weren’t killing each other. They both thought the other one was a rat and started throwing punches. The reality was they were terrible criminals, sloppy morons that couldn’t cover their tracks. I knew something was up weeks ago.
I glance over at my unexpected passenger. Being a fucking Uber driver was not something I wanted to list on my resume anytime soon—but this girl didn’t have many options. I may have been a moody bastard, but even I wouldn’t leave her on the side of the road. She was a walking contradiction, and I had only known her for an hour. Who the hell breaks down at midnight and decides to step in and break up a fight with a goddamn umbrella? Apparently, this girl. She was either incredibly stupid or she had no sense of self preservation. Maybe both. The shift in her demeanor in the last 20 minutes was alarming. She seemed alert and fine when I was looking under the hood of her Bronco.Grudgingly, I was impressed that she was driving it. She was a bit awkward but seemed fine at that time. By the time she got in my truck, I noticed she started to look fatigued.
I glance at her again. Her olive toned skin has taken on a slightly green hue and her eyes are shut. She looks like she is coming down with something—or she is going to be sick. If I ask, she might think I care about her. Which I don’t. I don’t even know her.Right--keep telling yourself that asshole.In order to be safe, I opt to go the moody bastard route. “You aren’t planning on puking in my truck, are you?” I never said I would win any awards for being polite.
She shifts slightly and cracks open one of her eyes. Her glasses are crooked on her face. “I haven’t planned anything that has happened tonight.” She closes her eye again and sighs. “The short story is I have a migraine. I normally don’t lose my lunch—it has been known to happen once or twice though. I am trying to make it home so I can take my meds.”
I am silent as I drive towards her address. Not wanting to apologize I go with the asshole option again. “We have about 10 minutes—try to restrain yourself.’’ Truthfully, I am slightly concerned. She is looking paler and it looks like she is massaging her head with far too much force. Whatever. Like I care. Not my fucking problem. She doesn’t respond to my gruff statement. Jesus, she certainly lives out in BFE. Not that I’m complaining. I like the solitude myself. My mind wanders to what her house may be like. Does she live alone? Will she be alright tonight? How will she get back to the shop to get her vehicle? Of course, I will not ask all of those questions. Hopefully she will volunteer some of this information herself. I pull onto a street that has a few small houses on it and find her small cottage. “Is this it,” I ask. Pulling into the carport. She hums what I assume is a yes. I turn off the truck and look over at her. She is fumbling withher seatbelt. Reaching over, I undo it. I get out and make my way around the truck to open the door. She trips out, eyes still closed.
“Jesus, do you have a death wish? Let me help you.” She stops and lets me guide her to the front door. Good thing too, this stone pathway is a fucking hazard. Fumbling around in her purse she locates her key ring and hands it to me. There are 3 keys on it, and one is for her truck. I pick one and hope it’s the right one. Damn, I’m good. It worked.
There was a soft light on over the sink in the small kitchen that illuminated the way. As soon as the door was open, she blindly stumbled through the kitchen to the living room and laid down on the grey sectional couch. She pulled a pillow over her face and sighed. I stood there awkwardly wondering why the hell I didn’t just leave her there. Looking around her cottage it was small, but neat. It had a mixture of old and new, but things were definitely taken care of.
Clearing my throat, I was about to ask if she needed anything when she bolted up and staggered to the bathroom off the hallway. Slamming the toilet lid up, she was just in time to empty the meager contents of her stomach. I would have held her hair back but with it being chin length, it wasn’t necessary. From the floor, she reached up and grabbed the hand towel that was hanging on the side of the 1950s style sink. After wiping her face, she tried to lay on the floor.
“Let me help you back to the couch.” Reaching out, I grab her elbow and help her up as she rises.
