Page 13 of Tempting Promises
“We drive on the left side here in America,” Rowan says as my ass is still hanging out of the door.
I get all the way in and turn to him. “And people say you’re the smart one?”
“They also say I’m the hot one.”
“Let’s not forget, the lying, cheating bastard one. I know I’ve heard that one too.”
Rowan grins. “Only your friends, darling, and that’s because you and your delusional sister spread the bullshit far and wide.”
I get into my seat, glare at him, and turn the key. “Whatever you say, asshole.”
I turn the key again since the engine didn’t turn over the first time. The truck sputters, but it doesn’t start.
I do it again.
Come on, Frankie, don’t fail me. Start.
My truck doesn’t do as I ask.
“Having truck issues?” he asks as he rests his arms on the window frame. “Need some help?”
“Not from you,” I grumble. God only knows what it is this time. Frankie has been around for a long time. He’s old, cranky, and paid off, which is what my grams said about Pop.
Frankie also has been temperamental as of late and clearly the universe is trying to make a point that he’s ready to retire.
I scoot back over to the passenger side, where Rowan is still leaning, and push the door open, not caring if it hits him.
It doesn’t move an inch. He is like a brick wall. “Can you move?”
“If you ask nicely.”
I’m so not in the mood for this. “Move.”
He tsks and shakes his head. “Manners, Sullivan.”
“Move, Whitlock,” I say again.
Rowan doesn’t because, why would he? “The word you’re searching for is ‘please.’”
“No, the word I’m searching for is ‘move’!”
He steps back, and I push again, the door opening this time. I jump down, stomp around to the front, and lift the hood. I’m not sure what I’m looking for, but where there’s a will, there’s a way.
The cables all look good, nothing appears to be leaking—not that I can see much over the pillows of steam from my breath. Still, I go over the things my grandpa always did. He was a master atkeeping things running, and I wish, more than anything, that he was here now.
“Looks like your battery cable is loose.” Rowan’s voice startles me. “Right there, tighten that one.”
I look to where he’s pointing, which is the same area I just checked. Thankfully, I am smart enough not to make some snarky comment because, when I touch it? Sure enough, it’s loose. After twisting it back into place, I step back. “Thank you.”
“How did that taste?”
“Like battery acid,” I reply.
Rowan’s laugh is almost infectious. Almost.
“Go try it, I’ll stand here to adjust if it needs it.”
Accepting help from Rowan goes against every instinct, but I have no choice. I hop back into the cab and try again.
