Page 9 of My Casanova

Stan nodded and gave me a reassuring smile. “You got it.”

“Goodnight, Stan,” I called over my shoulder and pushed through the door.

The late afternoon heat slammed into me like a wall the second I stepped outside. The parking lot was nearly empty, and the asphalt radiated waves of heat under the relentless Texas sun. My car sat toward the back and shimmered in the golden light like an oven waiting to swallow me whole. Why did I decide a black car was a good idea?

I unlocked the door, tossed my purse into the passenger seat, and slid behind the wheel with a tired groan. The leather seat burned against my skin, and I quickly turned on the AC. The vents blasted hot air before finally cooling down. I put on my sunglasses and tapped my fingers on the screen to put on music.

Fleetwood Mac drifted through the speakers as I pulled out of the lot, and Stevie Nicks’ voice wrapped around me like a familiar embrace. Just as she started singing about taking her love down, the tire pressure light on my dash blinked rapidly.

“What the hell?” I muttered and frowned as I glanced at the display. The car felt fine—no pulling, no odd noises. Maybe the sensor was acting up. I pressed a few buttons and brought up the tire pressure screen to make sure everything was fine.

It wasn’t.

The number for the right rear tire was dropping fast. A heartbeat later, the car started to shudder beneath me, and the steering wheel vibrated in my hands.

“No, no, no,” I cried, and my pulse kicked up as I scanned the road for a safe place to pull over.

Stan was right—I was exhausted. The past three nights had been a blur of restless sleep and nightmares about theexplosion. The last thing I needed was a damn flat tire on top of it.

Frustration bubbled up in my chest, but I swallowed it down as I eased the car onto the gravel shoulder of the road. My fingers clenched the wheel as the car came to a stop, and dust swirled around me.

“Just great,” I muttered and rested my head back against the seat. “This sucks.”

I opened the door and stepped out into the sweltering heat, the wave of it slapping me in the face like an oven door left open too long. The thick scent of hot rubber filled my nostrils, acrid and unmistakable. Walking around to the back of the car, I crouched down, brushing the dust off my hands onto my jeans before inspecting the damage.

The tire was completely shot—torn to shreds like it had gone through a blender. Long, jagged gashes ran across the rubber, and bits of it flapped limply in the breeze.

“Perfect,” I mumbled under my breath and wiped sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand. There went my extra two hours at home. So much for Stan’s insistence that I needed rest.

I sighed heavily. The day had been long, and now this? Great. Just great.

At least I wasn’t stuck on a busy road. The side road I had taken was quiet, with barely any traffic in sight—just a few passing cars.

I moved to the trunk and popped it open. The heat trapped inside rolled over me like a furnace blast as I pushed aside the mess of reusable grocery bags and an old sweatshirt to uncover the spare tire nestled in its compartment.

I tugged at it, but the damn thing didn’t want to budge. “Come on, you piece of shit.” I gave it another hard yank, but it didn’t budge.

Just as I was working up a sweat wrestling with the stubborn tire, the low rumble of an approaching engine echoed through the stillness. The sound vibrated through the air, and I paused to glance over my shoulder. Two bikes rolled to a stop a few feet away, and dust kicked up around them. The riders swung their legs over, and their boots crunched against the gravel as they dismounted.

I shielded my eyes with my hand and stared at the two figures. I recognized one of them almost immediately.

Smoke.

Jesus.

Even under the relentless sun, he looked as effortlessly cool as ever. His black T-shirt clung to his tattooed arms, and his leather cut fit him like it was made for him. I swallowed hard and felt an odd mix of relief and nervousness in my stomach.

“You okay?” Smoke called out.

I pushed my hair out of my sweaty face and forced a tight smile. “Uh, well, I’ve been better.”

He stepped closer, and his gaze locked onto mine. I could see the flicker of recognition pass over his face.

Yep. He knew who I was now.

I’m sure I looked about as shocked as he did.

“I guess it’s my turn to help you,” he smirked, his lips tugging up in that way that made it impossible to tell if he was being cocky or just charming.

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