“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m going tomorrow or Sunday to get it and put a tire on it.”
“Why?”
“Why what?” she asked, exasperated. Her voice cracked through the night air, sharper than she’d intended.
He rolled his eyes, and she caught the flash of frustration in the angle of his jaw. Of course. Always the same. Why couldn’t things ever just be easy with him? Why couldn’t he simply let something go without demanding answers like a prosecuting attorney?
“Why are you getting a tire replaced?”
“Why does anyone get a tire replaced?”
“We’re not doing this,” he snapped, muttering hotly under his breath as she unbuckled the helmet and lifted it off.
“No. You’re right. We are not doing this because there is nothing to be discussed.”
“Why are you getting a tire—and not four new tires?”
“Because I only need one, and it’s none of your business.”
“I’m making it my business,” he snarled, whipping around to glare at her. “What is it with you women always driving around in cars that will leave you stranded on the side of the road? You, my sister, my mother— I just don’t get what that second ‘X’ chromosome does to your brain when it comes to safety and vehicles.”
Her temper spiked, heat rushing through her veins. “I don’t get why that ‘Y’ chromosome thinks that you have any say in my life.”
“I don’t.”
“Exactly—so butt out.”
“When it comes to you being stranded or safe—No.”
“Why are you yelling at me?”
“Why are you making stubborn and stupid decisions just to irritate me?”
“I’m not doing this,” she snapped, shoving the helmet against his chest. She swung a leg off the bike, trying to slide down gracefully, but the slick soles of her shoes betrayed her. Her foot slipped on the edge of the driveway, and she landed with an undignified grunt—half sprawled on the concrete, half tangled in the damp grass.
“See?” he yelped, already off the bike and reaching for her.
“Don’t touch me!” Nettie shoved her hands up between them like a shield. Anger and humiliation flushed hot in her cheeks. “You are never touching me when you are in a mood like this and snapping at me.”
“Because I’m never touching you!”
“I know!”
For a long, charged moment, they glared at each other, both breathing hard. It was childish, maybe even ridiculous, but she refused to blink first.
“Can you move?” he asked tightly.
“I should be asking you that.”
“I can’t get up with you hovering over me like…” She trailed off, words tangling in her throat.
“Like what?” he snapped—and then stopped short.
They both seemed to realize it at the same time: the way he was leaning over her, one knee sunk in the grass, one hand braced in the yard just above her shoulder. His face hovered barely two feet from hers, his eyes burning with intensity that softened in the porchlight’s glow.
