Page 37 of My Ex's Brothers

It’s for Amelia, not me.

I stop at that. He’s…with Amelia?

Heat and jealousy strike me hard. He mentioned to Dane and me that he and Amelia have been texting back and forth.

But beingwithher? It pisses me off.

On my way, I text him back immediately, throwing on my shoes and jumping into my car.

My phone keeps chiming with his texts, which my car reads to me, hands-free. He mentions she’s parked in front of the campus, and that he would stay with her, but he has to get to class.

Fuck it, I’d be late to class if she was the reason, but I digress.

I know Tripp isn’t an idiot. He got into the university on a scholarship, and he’s studying fucking engineering. He’s a hard hitter on the ice, but he’s not brainless. Unless it comes to common sense and life bullshit.

I find Amelia’s car in the parking lot easily, having seen it before.

I remember her having trouble with it, passing it off. I should have been more stern with her. Should have not taken no for an answer.

Maybe then she wouldn’t be sitting in a car that won’t fucking start.

I pull up beside her, noting the sour look on her face as she taps something out on her phone.

“Hey,” I call out, getting out of my car. She looks up, her eyes going wide when she sees me.

“Richie,” she says, and I swear a shiver runs down my spine.

“Amelia,” I say as I shut the door. “What uh…seems to be the problem?” I know what the problem is, Tripp told me, but I also want to hear it from her. Not that I don’t trust him, but he isn’t always the most articulate when it comes to cars.

“It won’t start.”

“At all, or is it just not kicking over like last time?”

She stands up, motioning to the open door. “Well, at first it was making the same noise, but then…then it just stopped. I put the key in, but nothing happens.”

I fold myself into her driver’s seat, cursing because it’s such a tight fucking squeeze. Amelia’s five foot three, where I’m over six foot. I feel like I’m fucking the dashboard in this car. Christ. There’s barely enough room for me to get in and start the car, and I adjust the seat momentarily to give me enough room for some relief.

I turn the key, and true to her word, and Tripp’s, nothing happens.

I try again. A total of four times, and I nod. “Alright,” I say. “I’ll take a look.”

I get out of the seat, head around to her hood and prop it open.

“I really appreciate you looking at my car,” she says softly, but I can hear the sadness in her voice.

“It’s no problem,” I tell her as I move things around. She stays off to the side, not saying anything, but I can feel her eyes on me. Watching me intently.

A few moments later, I have my theory, and as such, I close the hood, turning around and leaning against it. I cross my arms as I catch her gaze.

“What’s the verdict?” she asks quietly.

“Likely? It’s your catalytic converter.”

“What does that mean?” she asks innocently. I shake my head, because fuck, that voice combined with those big bright eyes is fucking criminal.

Images flash in my brain of those big doe eyes staring up at me, that innocent voice begging me for things I shouldn’t be thinking about in a damn parking lot.

“I’m not going to sugarcoat this for you, Amelia,” I say, twisting my lips. I watch as her expression falters. “It means that you’re probably better off buying a new car than trying to fix this one, honestly.” I know that’s not what she wants to hear, and fuck, I get it. Especially given her circumstances.

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