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It pissed me off that she looked at me like I was the source of all her latest problems. It wasn’t my fault that her son had a big mouth, and it damn sure wasn’t my fault that her truck was running hot. I tried to be her solution. That was what I got for trying to save the day. I had never been Captain Save a Ho, and I wasn’t about to start.

I was more offended about my integrity than anything. Either way, she was no longer my problem. There wasn’t a damn thing wrong with my truck. Even if there was, I would know exactly how to fix it.

As I moved back into the garage, I was still irritated by the way her top lip curled as I tried to offer her stubborn ass my nonexistent payment plan. What really got on my nerves was the way she rolled her eyes like I was the one wasting her time.

I didn’t know what kind of perfume she was wearing, but at this point, I couldn’t stand it either, or her pretty brown eyes, or the way those jeans hugged her body, making me wonder how soft she was under them. Man, what the fuck?

“Get your shit together, boy,” I mumbled.

“You ain’t talking to yourself again, are you, bro?” Patrick asked, side-eyeing me as I passed him.

“That’s the best way to get an expert opinion,” I replied.

He laughed. “If you say so. That lady ran you hot, didn’t she?”

“I’m not even thinking about her anymore. If she wants to fuck her truck up, that’s on her.”

“I should have asked for her number before I pissed her off,” Patrick said, shaking his head.

“See, that’s what’s wrong with you now. You need to be working.”

“You too, but nah, you had to come over here and make sure her pretty ass was good,” he joked.

“Man, fuck you. I had to make sure she wasn’t about to kick your ass.”

“I’m pretty sure you saved my life. I appreciate it, boss.”

“Anytime.” I chuckled as I headed to my office.

I was starving. Once again, I had skipped lunch, trying to finish up a transmission. It was after two, and I hadn’t eaten all day. I usually knocked off around this time so that I could be on time to pick Victor up from school.

Once I was at my desk, I looked out at the parking lot like Ms. Lane’s stubborn ass would magically reappear or come to her senses if I willed it enough. I had to remind myself again that Ms. Lane and her food truck weren’t my problem. My life was complicated enough without her feisty ass in it.

I had an eight-year-old son, and a daughter who called me about every single thing she needed. I had more than enough problems of my own without worrying about a single mother with a food truck, pretty smile, and a fucked-up attitude.

Right on cue, my phone buzzed. Seeing my daughter’s name made me smile before I even saw the message. Even if she was asking for money, I loved that she never hesitated to reach out to me.

Amber: You ate yet?

I shook my head. For some reason, this little girl had taken on the role of being my mother. No matter how many times I reminded her that I was the parent, she made sure to check on me.

Me: I’m at work, baby.

Amber: In other words, no.

I snapped a picture of my food and shot it to her before she went in on her lecture about proper nutrition. I couldn’t wait until that girl had her own patients.

Amber: Good I didn’t want to have to come spoon feed you.

Me: Little girl, sit down somewhere.

Amber: Love you, daddy.

Me: I love you more, sweetheart. Call me if you need me.

My favorite part of the day was picking my son up from school. Well, not the actual task of picking him up. I hated that. What I loved was having my boy with me. It didn’t matter that he talked the entire time.

“Dad, I’m hungry. I want some donuts.”