Doesn’t apologize.
Doesn’t argue.
Doesn’t make excuses.
Her eyes lower. Not to the ground, but toward my legs. I’m not sure what she’s thinking because she shakes off whatever thought she had and suddenly looks angry. “I’m going to confirm we got everything and then head out. Thank you for coming. It was a successful day.”
Her tone is too professional.
Civil.
Like we’re strangers.
As if she doesn’t know one of my biggest secrets.
It takes everything in me not to reach out and wrap my palm around her arm to stop her from storming off, but I manage to control myself.
Not here, I think to myself.
Not in front of all these people.
So, I let her go.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Winter
No, no, no,no. Not today. This could have happened at any time, and my car chosethismoment to stop working.
“Please, not now,” I whine to my Subaru, trying unsuccessfully to turn it over for the fifth time since climbing in. It’s been a long day, and a hot shower, clean pair of leggings, and an oversized shirt are all calling my name. I want to sulk and eat my weight in knock-off Frosted Flakes while binge-watching an old season ofGrey’s Anatomy.
Although my favorite medical drama has been compromised since meeting the dark-haired woman whose husband I have the audacity to be mad at for flirting with another woman. What the hell is wrong with me?
Too much, I’ve decided.
Emaly deserves better.
And I need to go back to therapy. Except therapy is expensive, so bettering my mental health will have to wait. Again.
I close my eyes and lean my forehead against the top of my steering wheel when I realize that my car may officially be gone. I’ll have to have a funeral for it, like I did for Melvin the cat. I bet Kourtney would have nicer things to say to my trusty vehicle than she did to my precious feline companion. Like how she lost her virginity in the back seat, which is a story I wish I could unhear all these years after she shared it with me. Or how she used to tailgate at parties that Mom and Dad never knew aboutbecause, unlike me, she’s good at being stealthy. She definitely loves the Outback more than Melvin, and that makes me miss him way more.
I yelp when someone knocks on the window, and I hate the way my face crumples when I see Moskins standing on the other side. When I make no move to open the door, he does with arched brows as he studies my slumped body.
“Car problems?” he guesses.
All I do is nod silently.
“Got in the way of your dramatic exit, huh?”
This time, it’s me scowling.
His lips tug at the corners. “Come on. I’ll give you a lift. We can call a tow truck on the way.”
He’s nonchalant as he turns with Oreo’s carrier in his hand and heads toward his car. I still find it hard to believe he drives a Nissan Rogue and not a Mercedes or Porsche. Something flashy and…douchey.
Sighing, I weigh my options before realizing I have very few. I can call a tow truck and wait for them here and, hopefully, get a ride home with them, or…
I can go with the man whose butt looks way too good in those jeans. And screw me for noticing. And screwhimfor looking over his shoulder to see if I’m following at the very moment my eyes are plastered to his ass.
