Page 6 of Insta-Love

“Until I can afford a new one.” He looks sceptical and a fierce need to prove I’m not crazy rises in my chest. “Step back,” I instruct. “I’ll show you.”

Gym Boy moves away, his gaze nothing short of disbelieving, and crosses those thick branches he passes off as arms over his chest.

I shrink a little under the heat of his stare. The man exudes control when he isn’t doing a thing. How the fuck does he do that?

With a little more shake to my hand than previously, I push the spanner through the gap and pray to whoever’s listening that I don’t make a complete arse of myself. I go for the sweet spot, the part that usually gets things going, and bash metal on metal again.

He doesn’t move, doesn’t blink, doesn’t say a damn thing as I pull my hand out and make my way back to the driver’s side. With my fingers resting on the end of the key I take a deep breath and pray. Come on universe; don’t make me out to be the stupid, clueless woman he thinks I am. I close my eyes and twist the key. Adrenalin courses as the starter turns slowly, my heart in my throat as I wait to see if it fires.

Nothing.

The turning slows and is quickly replaced with the tick-tick-tick I’ve come to hate with a vengeance.

I bury my face in my hand, hoping if I stay like this long enough he’ll just go, leaving me to melt in shame in peace.

“Soo… you need a ride anywhere?”

My chin jerks up, and I grip the driver’s door white-knuckled. Get in a car? With him? Hell to the fuck no. Anxiety 101: avoid situations in which the subject feels out of control.

“I was going to walk.” I gesture lamely to my attire and shut the door. “It won’t take me too long.”

He glances up at the sky, squinting at the unrelenting afternoon sun, probably noticing what I have: there isn’t a damn cloud in sight. “How far do you need to walk?” His eyes roam me once more, but not with interest, with apprehension?

“To the mall.”

The arsehole grunts disbelievingly.

“What?”

“It’s just a long way for you to go if you don’t do this sort of exercise very often.”

I look down at myself and frown. Sure, I’m no statue of a Greek god like him, but do I really look that unfit? “Gee, thanks for the couch potato assessment.”

He groans and rolls his eyes in that infuriating “here she goes with her crazy woman shit” way.

“Oh no you don’t.” I slam a hand to my hip and jut my chin out. “You basically took one look at me and told me that you think I’m too unfit to walk twenty minutes to the mall. Way to go on the judgements there buddy. I’ll have you know I regularly get out for walks, and even though I’m not some skinny lettuce-leaf-fuelled bimbo, it doesn’t mean I’ll get winded walking to the end of my driveway to check the mail. Okay?”

“Just trying to help.” He slams both arms over his chest, matching my defensive stance.

“I’m sure. It’s just the way you went about it that was kind of douchey.”

“Douchey?”

“Douchey,” I affirm.

He lets out a snort and takes a step back. “Enjoy your walk, then. Don’t be afraid to pop over and let me know I was right when you’ve got stitch before you’re even half way.”

“Are you for real?”

The cocky bastard winks. “Very much so.”

Fucker. He blows me a smarmy kiss as he turns toward his front door. I lift my middle finger in salute as he retreats.

Just trying to help. Yeah, right. For what end? What the hell would he get out of it by helping somebody like me who he clearly doesn’t like? Favours. I scoff and slam the hood down on the car. That’s probably exactly it. Adonis over there probably thought I’d be so grateful for his chivalrous act that I’d be a pushover to get a quick ride out of.

Fuck him.

Fuck good-looking men and their ridiculously touchable muscles.

Fuck being desperately single.

So desperately single that I’d still tap that.

Fuck.

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