Page 10 of The Pucker and the Princess
I do my best to take care of my truck, getting her washed regularly, following the standard maintenance schedule. I’m sad that she’s having problems. “You’re a good truck, aren’t you?” I whisper.
My teammates have always given me shit about talking to my car, but I can’t help it. I’m sentimental, deep down. I get attached to things, and something like the first car I ever bought with money I made from hockey? Yeah, I’m sure as fuck sentimental about that.
I’ve had this truck for over ten years. I could easily afford a new one, but then what would I do with my truck? Storing it somewhere else seems silly, but I only have one parking spot here. And while getting rid of it if I did upgrade would make the most sense, the thought of doing that makes my heart squeeze. So I’m really hoping I just need to replace the battery or something equally simple and fixable.
Would I shell out the cash to replace the whole engine if it came to that?
Hmm. Maybe.
That seems silly, but …
I like my truck. And while it might make more financial sense to get a new car sooner than later, I don’t want to.
A throat clears behind me, and I jerk my hand away from the truck as though it’s burning hot, whipping around to find Marissa standing behind my truck, a long gray sweater held closed by arms crossed over her chest.
I offer her a tentative smile. “Hey. Thanks again for helping me out. I really appreciate it.”
She lifts one shoulder in a shrug, returning my smile with a tilt of her lips. “Neighbors gotta look out for each other, right?”
Oof. That feels like a jab after I shut the door in her face when she first moved in. That wasn’t very neighborly of me, was it? Clearing my throat, I shake my head. “I really am sorry about the way I acted when you were moving in.”
She waves away my apology and holds up a little black plastic rectangle with cables wrapped around it ending in clamps. “Why don’t you pop the hood so I can hook this up?”
After unlocking the cab, I reach in to pull the hood release, intending to move to the front to open it the rest of the way, but she beats me to it. Uncertain what to do with myself, I close the door and lean against the side of the truck while she does her thing.
Her doubtful hum isn’t very reassuring. “What’s the damage?” I ask, trying to keep my voice light, but I’m not sure how well I succeed.
She pokes her head around so she can look at me, her expression a mix of amusement and … affection? That almost looks like affection. “Aww. You worried about your car?”
I shrug. “I just wanna know.” My answer comes out more gruff than I intended.
The amusement on her face turns into a full blown grin, then she disappears behind the hood for a second. “Battery’s bad,” she says, coming around. “Though that’s not really surprising.” Crossing her arms again, she leans against the side of the truck,though she left the hood open. “It seems pretty old, so my best guess is if you replace it, you’ll be fine.” She casts a glance over the truck. “I’m a little surprised you didn’t get a battery warning light before it gave up the ghost like this.”
Another shrug. “I don’t drive a lot in the off-season. And I was out of town for a while too.”
“Ah, okay.” She nods. “So it might’ve if you’d used it more, but there wasn’t time to notice, basically.” Her brows pull together as she thinks something over, then she shakes her head slowly, letting out a breath on a sigh. “I could replace it for you.” She turns a sardonic look on me. “Assuming you don’t know how to do it yourself?”
It’s phrased as a question, but we both know I’m hopeless. “No. I do not.”
“Well, now’s the best time to learn,” she declares, straightening. “Let me run up and grab my keys. We’ll head to an auto parts store, then I’ll come back to give you a jump, and we’ll drive it to my garage. Today’s your first lesson in car maintenance and repair.”
My eyebrows climb my forehead. “Uh …”
She arches one perfectly manicured eyebrow. “Unless you’d rather pay for a tow truck and an overpriced garage?” She glances between my truck and me, her gaze assessing, and I know that look. She’s trying to decide if I have much money. She knows I play hockey, but that’s it. Does she realize I’m in the NHL? Or does she think I had a game for a beer league? Though I doubt beer league players wear suits to games …
Still. There’s clear assessment in her eyes.
But when she meets my eyes again, my expression gone cool, she doesn’t seem to have made up her mind about how much she thinks I’m worth. She just holds my gaze, waiting patiently for me to respond.
I jingle the keys in my hand as I weigh my options, tearing my gaze away from her, studying the car, and thinking. I could go with her. Let her show me how to change a car battery. Might be fun. Educational, at least. And I could maybe figure out why this woman is trying to help me in the first place.
And that’s when it hits me why I feel so off-balance by this situation.She’shelpingme. She’s not looking for a handout or trying to figure out how to milk this situation to her benefit. The only one who obviously benefits here is me. I get my battery replaced for free, learn how to do it in the process, and get the pleasure of her company on top of that.
“What’s in it for you?” The question pops out as soon as it enters my mind.
She lets out a shocked laugh. “Wow, okay. Wow.” She draws out the last word, her soft accent becoming more obvious. She holds up her hands, palms out, though she’s still holding the battery tester, the cables once again carefully wrapped around the little plastic device. “I’m literally offering to take time out of my life and schedule to help you out. What’s in it for me? The satisfaction of knowing that another human gains a useful life skill. Seriously, dude. You don’t know how to jump a car? That’s just sad.” She shakes her head like I’m an object of pity.
I blink in surprise. “Fine. But I get to pay you back, then.”
