Page 12 of Blood and Buttercups

He places the phone in front of me. It’s a dinosaur—the type with a springy black cord connecting the handset to the base. I stare at the buttons, realizing I’m too frazzled to remember a single freaking number. And why would I? They’re all stored in my phone.

The door opens as I’m standing here wondering what the heck I did to deserve this week. I look over sharply, terrified it’s Ethan, though I can’t imagine him wandering into a dive like this. But it’s not Ethan.

Britta’s brother narrows his eyes when he recognizes me. He’s ditched his grocery store apron and exchanged it for a black leather jacket he wearsreallywell.

I cringe the moment I recognize him, wanting to disappear between the aisles. Pulling my eyes away from Noah, I turn back to the phone and stare at the numbers.

This man has a habit of catching me at my worst.

“Lady, if you’re not going to make a call…” the attendant says impatiently, though his tone isn’t unkind.

Slowly, I place the handset into the cradle and murmur, “I can’t remember any numbers.”

Noah flashes me a look as he tosses a coffee, a bag of jerky, and a candy bar on the counter, pulling out his wallet. “You’re that flower girl.”

“Yeah.” I rub my hand over my face.

“Bad night?” he asks, though it doesn’t really sound like he cares.

“Bad date.”

He collects his change from the cashier and flashes me another look before he walks toward the door. Just before he reaches it, he reluctantly comes to a stop. He glances back at me like I’m a scroungy stray cat, his eyes landing on my heel’s busted strap. “You have a car, right?”

Silently, I shake my head.

He glances at the phone that’s still sitting on the counter. “What about your cell?”

Biting my bottom lip, I shake my head again.

With a long-suffering sigh, he gestures toward the door with his coffee. “Come on. I’ll give you a ride.”

So, the thing is, I shouldn’t get in the car with this man. I just did that. Lesson learned, right? But do I have qualms about accepting a ride from this stranger?

Nope, not a one—probably because he looks too put out to try anything. I hobble after him, muttering a thank you to the clerk.

Noah’s car is a sensible crossover SUV, so tame that I wonder if it’s his mother’s.

“Just a minute,” he says as he opens the passenger-side door. He tosses a duffel bag into the back, making room for me. He leaves the door open and then walks to the driver’s side.

I slide into the seat, letting out a relieved moan once I’m off my feet. I’m never wearing heels on a date again—you never know when you’ll have to run from a wannabe vampire.

Just the thought makes me adjust my collar, nervous Noah will notice. I’m mortified enough as it is. I certainly don’t want to explainthat.

“What’s your address?” He opens the bag of jerky and takes a drink of his coffee, pulling up the GPS on the touch screen.

“My car’s at a restaurant. I don’t suppose you could take me there?”

He turns his head to look at me, his frown growing. Without a word, he offers me the chocolate bar, like he thinks I’m a spooked forest animal and food will coax me out of my hiding spot.

“No, thanks.”

“Doesn’t chocolate make everything better?” He gives the bar a little waggle to entice me. “That’s what Britta always claims. I bought this for her, but what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”

I shift in my seat, resisting the urge to draw my legs to my chest. “Not this.”

He stiffens, his entire demeanor changing as he demands, “Did this guy hurt you?”

“No,” I lie. “I just…you know. Some dates suck.”

---