Page 34 of Stuck With the Best Man

“Call them again.”

“He’s on the way, Ruby. They said the ETA was thirty minutes. It’s only been twenty.”

I fold my arms against my chest. I’m really trying not to panic.

Except, in my defense, this is definitely a panic-worthy situation. I’m stuck on the side of the highway in the middle of nowhere with a man I barely know. There’s an incoming storm that could slow down our progress to the city even more, and if I don’t make it back by tonight, my entire schedule is going to be messed up.

It doesn’t matter that I don’t technically need to be in the studio until Wednesday morning. I have an early morning class tomorrow that I desperately need to attend if I want to make up for the fact that I haven’t danced in four entire days. That might not sound like a lot to someone who doesn’t know anything about ballet, but even just one day without some kind of physical maintenance to our bodies can ruin months of hard work.

Not to mention the fact that I have to unpack, sew another new pair of pointe shoes, talk with the company costume designer about my fitting, make sure I’m eating well, keep my muscles stretched and warm,andtry not to get myself a first-degree murder charge against Ben Hawthorne in the meantime.

I clench my hands into fists. I need to be back in New Yorknow.

“Are you okay?” Ben asks. He sounds nervous.

I don’t even bother looking at him. I’m too busy glaring out through the windshield and trying not to scream with frustration. “I’m fine.”

At least Ben has AAA. It’s kind of funny, actually. For some reason, I would have thought rich people had their own special version of roadside assistance to reach out to. Also, considering how remote our current location is, I have to admit that it’s lucky they were only thirty minutes away. Everyone has heard horror stories of people who have been stuck waiting on roadsides for hours at a time.

I take a deep breath. Everything is going to be okay. I play with the ruby ring on my finger, twisting it around in circles. It’s my nervous habit; a somewhat helpful balm when my anxiety is spiking to dangerous levels. Gram gave me the ring for my sixteenth birthday. Amy has one too—an amethyst ring to symbolize her name. Our mom, Emerald, has an emerald ring.

Ben taps his fingers on the steering wheel. It’s dead silent inside the car with the tension so thick that I’m starting to feel like I can’t breathe. Every few seconds, a car rushes by on the highway.

“I’m, uh, going to get the spare tire out of the back.”

I don’t say anything. Ben gets out of the car.

Still, I can’t resist watching in the rearview mirror as he opens the trunk and frowns down at the base. I highly doubt he’s ever had to deal with a flat tire by himself. I bet he has a chauffeur or something ridiculous like that when he’s in the city.

There’s some loud shuffling as Ben removes our suitcases. He grunts and mumbles to himself, and I can no longer mind my business. I twist around in the seat, watching as he clumsily yanks open the base of the trunk and stares down at what I’m assuming is a spare tire.

“It’s in there, right?” I ask.

“Yep. That’s a tire.”

“Shouldn’t you know how to change it yourself?”

Ben glares at me from the opening of the trunk door. “Why would I know how to do that?”

“I just thought it was, like, a manly thing that men inherently know how to do.”

“Are you saying I’m not manly?”

“No.”

“I had no idea you had such outdated views on gender roles,” he quips.

I roll my eyes. “Whatever.”

The truth is, Ben is adequately manly. More than adequately. At least, in terms of his physical appearance. Maybe he doesn’t have a beard or lumberjack muscles, but his broad shoulders and casual confidence lend him an admittedly alluring vibe of refined masculinity. Unfortunately, he’s exactly the type of guy I would find myself drawn to.

Which is really annoying, because I’d like to pretend that the day at the Strand was a total fluke.

“Why don’tyouknow how to change a tire?” he snaps at me.

“Professional dancers don’t change tires.”

He snorts quietly. I turn back around in the passenger seat to face front.

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