“Go, Delaney. I’m staying here until I see you’re safely on the road. Then you’re going to text me when you get home.”
I stick my head out the window. “You’re bossy.”
“Iamyour boss,” he jokes. “Anyway, you’re the one who’s bossy—and I’m waiting for you to leave.”
“Why are you being so weird?” I ask, half laughing.
“Why areyoubeing so weird?” he fires back.
“Just go, Harrison.”
“Nope. Not gonna do it.”
Exasperated, I sigh.
Fine. I’ll have to take my chances with Teresa. Maybe it won’t be as loud this time.
Or maybe he won’t recognize the sound.
I put the car in reverse and back outextremelyslowly, trying to minimize the awful noise from my flat tire. It’s still there—just not as terrible.
As soon as I shift into drive and am about to pull away, Harrison steps onto the pavement in front of me, palm face out toward me, signaling for me to stop.
“Shit.”
I put the car back in park and climb out while he walks around the car, inspecting.
He crouches down by the tire, but I’ve already climbed out of the car and am retrieving my can of Flat-Fixer from the trunk.
“You knew you had a flat—that’s why you were behaving so oddly,” he says, half-accusing.
“So, what if I did?” I mutter, twisting off the valve stem cap and attaching the can.
“First of all,” he says, straightening up, “I’m guessing this happens often since you carry that around. And second, this tire’s way too bad for that to work.”
“No, it’ll be fine.” I dismiss him.
He studies the tire, unimpressed.
“It’sprettyflat, Delaney. It’s pulling away from the rim.”
“It’s fine,” I insist.
Five minutes later, it’s still not fine.
Frustrated, I remove the can, screw the cap back on, and stand up. I walk around to the passenger side, open the door, and grab my bag. Then I make sure to roll up the windows and lock the car.
“I’ll take care of this tomorrow,” I say briskly. “You have a good night.”
I don’t know why I even bother. Deep down, Iknowhe’s not going to let me walk away.
“What the hell are you doing?” Harrison calls. I’ve walked about twenty feet away, heading in the opposite direction.
“I’m walking home,” I call back to him without stopping. “I do it all the time. It’s easy.”
Within seconds, he catches up to me.
“Like hell you are, Delaney. I hate that you do it during the day. Why would I be okay with it when it’s dark?”
