“Come on, Fiona. Don’t do this to me now.”
Fiona gives one more good groan and dies a dramatic death.
“Absolutelynot, Fiona. You were supposed to be my badass princess.” I hiss at the now silent van, trying and failing to get her to show some signs of life. Turning the key is doing absolutely nothing. “Had I known you were going to be such a pain, I would have named you Donkey.”
I grab the wheel and shake, “Gahhh. Okay, not Donkey. That was rude.” I close my eyes, count to three, and try the key again.
Nothing.
“No, I should have named you Lord Fuckwad instead, you absolute fucking—”
I shout when there is a single knock on my window. Its Bowen, brows raised, cigarette hanging from his stupidly sexy mouth.
I would open the window, but that would require the van turning on. My only option is opening the door and hopping out. Which I do, and Bowen steps back enough to make room for me and all my frustration.
“Pop the hood,” he says, barely giving me a once-over before he walks over to the front of Fiona and waits, taking a drag.
I scramble to find the hood latch, but once I do, he’s opening it, and I’m holding my breath. He’s going to like…unplug my battery and plug it back in and say,“There ya go, all good for you to make your escape now. See ya, be a stranger. Let's make it four years this time instead of two.”
I wait for a few minutes, squinting at the open hood through the windshield. Trying to prepare myself for it to close and being hit with the visual of him all over again.
Because no, he does not have a shirt on.Still.
After what has to be five minutes or more, I feel awkward enough to stiffly exit my busted van and make my way around to the front.
What I see is not what I expect.
The padding up under the hood is a torn mess. Pieces and chunks lay on top of all the guts of poor Fiona, and Bowen is poking and prodding.
“What…”
Just when I’m about to have a small, tiny mental breakdown, Bowen pulls up a chewed line of some kind, and gravel under tires pulls my focus behind the van at the big red truck pulling in.
Bowen doesn’t react to the noise, like he’s expecting it.
I watch as it stops behind the van, and seconds later, a giant of a man comes out from behind the wheel. Just as tall as Bowen, if not taller. He’s got on a flannel with the arms ripped off at the shoulders, sandy blond waves poking out around the edges of a backwards baseball cap. A big grin flashing white teeth.
“Kit?” the guy asks, in a voice that’s much lighter than one would expect coming from such a big dude. “Holy shit, man, is that you?”
I flick a glance over at Bowen, but he’s elbow deep in Fiona, and I’m super alarmed by that. “Uh,” I say and try to smile back, though I don't think I accomplish much more than a deranged tilt of the lips.
The blond giant makes his way over to us and smacks me on the shoulder in greeting, hard enough to knock me sideways into the bumper.
“Dude, Boe didn’t tell me you were coming. This is awesome, man. I haven’t seen you in so long.” The man squeezes my shoulder now, still smiling. I can feel Bowen looking at us.
Boe.I flinch on the inside.Boe.
Once upon a time, I was the only one to call him that. I guess a lot will change in a few years.
I ignore the twisting in my gut and take in the guy's friendly blue eyes and sharp features. He does look familiar.
“Ian,” he says, ending my suffering with a laugh. “From next door, remember? Our properties share the lake. We used to hang out when you guys would come up for the summer.”
“Oh, duh. I knew you looked familiar.”
He smiles and moves around to Bowen, not caring that the man is now covered in sweat and grease, to give him a bro hug. You know the one—one-armed, more of a chest bump than an embrace. My eyes zero in on the grip Ian’s hand has on Bowen’s bare skin.
“What’s going on here, man?”
