Fuck. I never should’ve thrown that wrench.
I take a cautious step back toward my truck and attempt to shield my body from the oncoming vehicle. But thankfully, as the vehicle slows, I make out a beat-up tow truck with a crooked front bumper and a half-assed paint job with the wordsSal’s Auto Bodywritten sloppily on the side.
A deflated breath squeezes out of my lungs, and I can feel my pulse start to level out. I throw on a smile and hold out my hand, trying to block the blinding light coming from the headlights as I make my way to the side of the road.
The window slides down and reveals a hidden figure, but as soon as I hear his voice, my stomach drops. “You called for a tow?”
And then my eyes adjust to the light, and his face starts to become clearer. Is this some kind of cruel joke? What did I do to deserve this type of coincidence? I would take an incompetent teen or a sweet, bumbling farm boy over this any day.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
The truck engine goes silent, and my skin crawls at the low chuckle that comes out of his mouth. “Is that you, Bambi?”
My fists clench so hard at my sides, I know I’ll have perfect crescent moons embedded in my palms. I used to love that nickname. It used to make me blush. But instead of a rosy, pink color decorating the balls of my cheeks, now all I see is red.
“Shit, it is you,” he breathes as he steps out of the truck. My pulse starts to stutter as his large frame towers over me. I crane my neck, drinking him in.
Most of the boys I had crushes on or dated in my teens either got fat or bald after high school, but not the man who carved out my heart and left me for dead. Nope. That would’ve made my life too easy.
Instead, his chin had become stronger with a sharp edge that dared me to look closer. He is still clean-shaven, and regrettably, it still works for him. Maybe if he had a big bushy mustache, my eyes wouldn’t be drawn to the two soft pillows perched on the bottom half of his face. It’s a crime for these good looks to be wasted on a trash human.
“It’s Emery,” I spit out, my voice dripping with venom. “Unless you forgot my name and that’s what you call all your summerflings.”
Oof, that was harsh even for me. But instead of my usual apologize and retreat method, I square my shoulders and prepare for him to flounder. Except, he doesn’t.
Instead, an irritating smirk curls his lips as he crosses his arms and sinks to one side. I force my eyes not to dip to the biceps straining against his sleeves. A few tattoos peek outfrom under the fabric, ink curling and twisting up his arm like dark, thorny vines.
I wonder if he still has that tattoo. The thought makes my hand run absently over the tiny lock symbol on my hip.
Eight years ago, Knox traced the fresh raised skin on my hip with the softest touch I’d ever felt. “Now everyone will know I was the first one to unlock your heart,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with promise.
I’d smiled back then because it felt true. And at sixteen, my world was small enough for one boy to take up every inch. He kissed the spot gently, and I knew my heart would never be the same after that.
For a few perfect seconds, I was convinced that matching tattoos would tie us together for a lifetime. That the matching key he had inked on his skin meant something.
But I was a kid. A dumb, naïve, and close-minded girl who thought that when people made promises, they kept them. But by the end of that summer, the first boy who unlocked my heart would also be the first to shatter it into a bunch of tiny pieces I’m still picking up after all these years.
“Damn, I guess you’re not as shy as you used to be. I’ll have to figure out a new nickname.”
My mouth twists into an unimpressed scowl. “Maybe you should focus less on nicknames and more on helping me get my truck off the side of the road. The sooner I get home, the sooner I can get on with my life and forget about this fun little coincidence.”
Knox laughs again, low and warm. He never could take me seriously. Or anything for that matter. Why did I use to be so enthralled by this man?
“It’s good to know we can still be friends after all these years. I couldn’t live knowing you still hated me,” he mocks with a sarcastic tone. God, I wish my truck would magically start so I could run him over with it.
“It’s good to know you still have that delightful sense ofhumor,” I scowl, tapping my foot against the asphalt, “but I wouldn’t say hate. You’d have to think about someone to hate them.”
I seal my insult with a grin sharp enough to cut glass. Silence falls around us as we stare at each other, but his smile doesn’t falter. I honestly didn’t know if he was capable of frowning or any other emotion that didn’t involve that infuriating half smirk.
“Ouch,Bambi,” Knox says, using the sad nickname as ammunition. His grin deepens and he takes a step forward. I clock his eyes dipping toward my mouth before popping back up to mine with a twinkle.
The sick fuck is enjoying this. And here I thought he liked the shy girl who played hard to get.
Not wanting to feed into this charged moment anymore, I clear my throat and walk toward my truck. “Are you going to look at my truck or not?”
“Your wish is my command. Go ahead and pop the hood.”
I roll my eyes and obey him even though every part of my mind is screaming at me to tell him to fuck off. But I need him, and according to Google, there’s no one else nearby.
