Page 12 of Melt My Heart: Denver Warlords

His jaw twitched, gaze sliding over me before returning to her. “Now you’re out with a speed skater? Thought you’d aim higher.”

I tensed. If the guy was looking for a fight, he was about to get one. However, Starla interjected first, exhaling pointedly. “We’re discussing our routine, and I’d appreciate some privacy.”

Trevor mustered a shrug, face souring. “Whatever. Have fun with your practice buddy. You’re missing out, Star.”

Then he spun on his heel and strode out. Starla watched his retreat, her fingers tightening around the teacup’s handle.

I studied her rigid posture. “He’s persistent.”

She blew out a frustrated breath. “I’ve told him no a hundred times. He doesn’t listen.”

I suppressed a spike of protectiveness, not wanting to overstep. “You need me to say anything, or is it better if I back off?”

Her shoulders eased. “I can handle him. He’s just annoying. Let’s forget it.” She eyed the door where Trevor had disappeared. “We should wrap up here soon. I have a meeting with my coach.”

“All right,” I agreed, finishing the last of my coffee. “Let me walk you back to your car.”

She nodded, though her gaze lingered on the spot where Trevor had stood. A taut energy surrounded her, and I recognized how much she disliked that intrusion.

We left the café and stepped back out to the wintry sidewalk. Cars lined the street, leaves drifted across the pavement, and the scent of fresh bread wafted from a nearby bakery. Starla led the way, pausing at her white SUV parked a block over. She rummaged in her purse for keys, her shoulders still tense.

Then she halted abruptly. I looked down, noticing the front tire sagging with a jagged slash near the rim. The rear tire on the same side showed an identical cut. My jaw tightened in anger. “That’s not a nail or broken glass.”

Her eyes widened, composure flickering. “Oh my God. Someone...did this?”

I crouched, running my hand over the ripped rubber. “No question. Both tires are trashed.”

She swallowed, color draining from her cheeks. “Unbelievable.”

I stood, scanning the empty sidewalk. “Could be random vandalism,” I said, mind spinning. “But…”

She inhaled, pressing her lips together. “I can’t deal with speculation right now. I just need my car fixed. I have a full schedule tomorrow. I’m supposed to meet with Vivian in 15 minutes.”

I pulled out my phone, flipping through my contact list. “I know a tow service that’s pretty quick. Let me call them.”

She nodded, arms wrapped around her petite frame as a gust of wind lifted the ends of her scarf.

“Why slash my tires?” she muttered, frustration lacing her words.

I didn’t answer, keeping my focus on the call. After a brief exchange, the tow service promised a forty-five to sixty-minute arrival window. It was the best they could do.

I took a step closer to her, lowering my voice. “Why don’t you call Vivian and explain what happened. Let me stick around until the tow arrives, and then I’ll drive you home, all right? Go back and wait in the café where it’s warm. I’ll text you when they show up.”

She nodded reluctantly. “Okay. Thank you.”

The tow truck came, the driver examined the tires with a concerned frown, and Starla signed the paperwork with a hasty scrawl. Once her car was secure for transport, I led her to my Range Rover, parked a short walk away. She slid into the passenger seat, hugging herself to fight the chill.

I started the engine, feeling unresolved anger twist in my gut at the idea of someone targeting her property. She stared out the window, slender fingers tapping the door restlessly.

“You all right?” I asked quietly, pulling away from the curb.

Her voice came out stiff. “I hate not knowing why this happened. Hate that I have to scramble for a ride.”

I pressed my foot on the gas, merging into traffic. “We’ll figure out your transportation. The important part is you’re safe.”

She nodded but kept her gaze on the cityscape passing by in a blur of buildings and trees barren of leaves. I let her be. My thoughts churned with frustration at the sabotage, yet I tried not to let it show. The brief silence between us felt heavy, though not entirely uncomfortable—like we were both processing the situation in our own way.

When we reached her block, she pointed out the modern high-rise apartment building where she lived, and I pulled up to the curb. She unbuckled, exhaling before turning to me. “Thank you for the ride. And for not making this a bigger ordeal.”

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