Page 4 of Lovingly Restored

I stop myself from lecturing her. She can’t change it now.

“Speakingof lights, the high beams on your moronic monster truck are blinding me.”

“Monster truck?” I throw my head back in amusement, crisp tasting rainwater filling my mouth. Is this girl for real? Her eyes are a warm brown, and even though she’s squinting, her pupils are tiny points. Though she holds her head high, I don’t miss the way her chin wobbles. Fuck, I don’t want her to cry. I release her wrist, scrubbing a hand down my face like a squeegee.

I point my thumb over my shoulder, “That’s an F-250 Powerstroke with a super cab and leather interior.”

Her chin rises another inch.

“King Ranch,” I add.

She scoffs. “Is that supposed to be impressive?”

No, but the monthly payment is.I grit my teeth at the thought of my upcoming last paycheque.

“Well, I’m done standing out in a storm. You gonna call for a tow?”

“Sometimes I can get it to start again.”

Folding my arms over my chest, I tip my chin in the direction of the car.

“Give it a go, then.”

She looks hopeful as she turns away from me, climbing into her car. Aside from being a bit shaken, she seems fine. I’m so fucking ready to get out of here.

“Yes!” she cries when it turns over.

I’m not a car guy, but my eyebrows knit together at the noise.

“Does it always sound like that?”

As if in response to my question, the engine launches into an unhealthy, high-pitched whine.

The acrid smell of burning plastic blows my way.

I cough at the stench. “Fan-fucking-tastic.”

The squeal sharpens and sounds like it’s about one octave from an explosion.

“Get the fuck out of that thing!”

I have no idea what the little death trap is capable of. She clamps her hands over her head like earmuffs as thoughthatwill solve the problem. I’m getting a sense of why she’s out here in the first place.

“For the love of…” I haul her out of the seat, ignoring her protests. Tucking her behind me, I lean inside to cut the engine. I palm her keys and shut the door behind me.

“You can’t drive this tonight. It’s going to need repairs.”

“What are you? Some sort of mechanic?”

She makes a move to grab her keys, but I raise my arm. Even if she jumped, she couldn’t reach.

“No,” I tell her, “but I have ears, and it’s not safe.”

“I’ll call a tow truck. You don’t have to wait around.”

“Don’t you worry. I won’t.”

I place the keys in her upturned palm, satisfied. I checked on her. She’s fine. My duty is done, and now I can start my weekend of wallowing and damage control.

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