Page 30 of For The Record

“You know I can’t resist Neapolitan. Oh, and speaking of irresistible… I’m stalking your boyfriend,” she sing-songs.

I exit the car. “Aren’t you at work?”

“One of the models threw a hissy fit and is refusing to work unless she has a specific piece of jewelry from one special shop all the way in Silver Lake, so I sent the intern to get it. Now I’m free to cyber-stalk your boyfriend for the next two hours. Ooh, his cousin’s girlfriend’s brother is really cute.”

“How far down this internet rabbit hole did you go?” I say into my earbud. “All for a guy who isn’t my boyfri-”

Just as I’m about to deny any relationship to Leo Perez, something hits me in the face. The door to the ice cream parlour swings open and almost smacks me in the nose. I stumble back. “Poppy, I’m going to call you later, okay?”

“I’ll text you the picture,” she says before the line goes dead.

“Excuse me.” I plant my hands on my hips, about to give a tongue-lashing to the person who almost knocked me to the ground. But then I look up and take in approximately six-foot-two-inches of Leo Perez.

Speak of the devil.

At least he didn’t hear my phone call with Poppy.

“Are you okay?” He surveys me from head to toe and does a double-take at my face. “Skye?”

“Leo.” Behind him, annoyed patrons not-so-subtly tell us to move out of the way with their eye-rolls and sighs. We enter the ice cream parlour. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“And here I was hoping you were stalking me.”

“That’s only if I like your Facebook pictures from 2010. Well, I’m sure you have places to be… don’t let me stop you.”

“I’ll buy you ice cream,” he blurts out, tapping his temple. “For your head, I mean… It looks like you might have a nasty bump on your forehead.”

“An offer I can’t refuse, but are you sure this wasn’t part of your scheme? Hitting girls with doors to get them to go on dates with you?”

“Well, you’ve already agreed to go on this date,” he says with a shrug. “You’ve played right into my hands.”

The line shortens and I order a mint chocolate chip cone as well as a pint of Neopolitan to go. Scoop gives out mini cooler bags that keep the ice cream from melting. While I wait for my order, I eye Leo’s tote bag of ice cream cartons. “Are you having a party?”

“I’m stockpiling these for Raina—my little sister. She refuses to eat ice cream from anywhere else.”

“She sounds fun.” Then again, I’m best friends with a girl who only eats Wonder Bread, so who am I to judge?

“She has high standards.”

The mint chocolate chip is scooped into a waffle cone and handed to me before I can reply. We go back out to the parking lot. Touching the bruise on my forehead gingerly, I almost forget about my car.

Leo glances down at me, gripping his cartons of ice cream. “What’s wrong?”

“Just before I got here, my car broke down.”

He frowns. “Want me to take a look at it for you?”

Before I can protest—though I’ve neglected to call a tow truck, a mechanic or even AMA—we’re already in front of my car.

“Are you a mechanic?” I give him an exaggerated side-eye. In his tailored Armani suit, he looks more suited to owning a luxury car dealership than popping the hood of my Honda.

“My stepfather owns an auto repair shop,” he says easily. “It’s not too far from here, actually. So you want me to call him for you?”

“I’m sure he’s busy…”

He shrugs. “Business has been slow for him these days.”

Having exhausted my excuses—and, to be frank, quite tired of trying so hard to keep him at arm’s length when my career is going to be under suspicion no matter what I do—I let him pop the hood. After a few dusty moments of Leo Perez poking around my car with his sleeves rolled up, he leans back and says, “You have a clogged air filter.”

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