“Buddy, you need to go inside and pay first,” the tow guy instructs me.
“I know how it works, but I left my wallet in the car.” I walk toward the driver’s door, stick my key in the handle cylinder, and unlock it, then lean over to root under the seat.
Relief washes over me when I feel the familiar shape of my Velcroed pencil case that contains every cent I possess.
Before returning to the front office, I turn to Electra. “Wait for me?”
She’s still inspecting the Volvo like she’s waiting for the wheel caps to pop off and the carriage to disintegrate.
I add, “Please?”
Most girls can’t resist a man who begs. Hopefully, Electra’s no exception.
She finally tips me a look, one laced with such intensity it spikes my pulse. To think there isn’t any magic involved.
“I don’t have all night,” the attendant grumbles, readjusting his tattered ball cap.
“Wait for me, and I’ll cook you dinner,” I find myself offering Electra.
A corner of her mouth tips in incredulity. “Where? On the hood of your station wagon?”
“At your place?”
“Lady, just wait for him so I can get back to work,” the attendant all but growls.
Electra flips the man a smile that’s so crude it could double as a middle finger. “I should take a stranger back to my place just to make your life easier?”
“Stranger?” Red-Sox snorts. “You rode in with him.”
“And you rode in with his car. Do you feel a kinship to it?”
“A car’s athing; he’s a person.”
When annoyance stains the guy’s cheeks, I stop dallying, worried she might lash out at him with her magic.
“I’ll go get my fine settled. Be right back.” I trot back to the office and pay, praying that, one, the attendant will be unscathed by the time I return, and two, Electra will still be there.
Only one of my prayers is answered.
Chapter 10
Electra
I’m almost surprised when Sunday rolls around without a word from Cillian. I’d been sure he’d text to ask why I didn’t wait for him. He hasn’t.
Did I check the news for fatal car crashes involving a faux-wood station wagon and a dance instructor? Possibly.
I wonder if his silence is because he’s offended that I chatted up another man atLogan’s. Or is it because I abandoned him in the tow lot? To think the only reason I did so wasbecauseI wanted to stay, which was weird as fuck.
Even though Cillian acted like the human version of a golden retriever, his past echoed mine in a way that made him feel like a kindred spirit.
DORIAN:We’re downstairs.
I dog-ear the page in my current small-town, big-spice romance read. The storyline is ridiculous and predictable, yet I can’t put the damn thing down.
I should hate these types of novels for the sole reason that they rub up against every part of my personality and hand me wildly unrealistic expectations about life and love. But every time I try to explore another aisle of a bookstore, I find myself veering right back to the powder-colored section.
Few people thankfully know of my addiction. Malachi isn’t part of the few.
