Page 23 of Merry Me
I leaned back in the seat, staring up at the sky like the answers might be up there. They weren’t. Just a family of squirrels mocking me from the branches.
This was fine. Everything was fine.
I was still muttering to myself as I popped the hood, more out of habit than hope. This car—Old Bessie, may she rest in unpredictable peace—had already had a hundred thousand miles on it when I’d inherited her at sixteen. She’d lived through my Easton heartbreak, two flat tires, a rogue raccoon incident, and exactly one regrettable road trip to Florida.
She was my ride or die.
Until apparently…today.
When she’d decided to die.
As I climbed out of the car and stared at the engine like it might miraculously come back to life, I heard the sound of a vehicle approaching.
I turned just as a shiny, lifted truck pulled into the driveway, tires spitting pebbles from the road. My stomach sank when I saw the driver.
The sexy-beast, gird-your-loins, handcuff-yourself-to-a-pole-so-you-don’t-jump-him, driver.
Easton.
He was wearing a backwards hat and a cocky grin that should be illegal before ten a.m. Something that happened to be an issue for my kind—aka every girl with a freaking pulse.
He stepped out like sin in denim. Worn jeans that clung in all the right places, a thermal shirt that looked spray-painted onto his stupidly sculpted chest, and that hat—fuck, that hat—that made every rational thought I’d ever had do a nose-dive off a cliff.
I wasn’t wearing makeup. Or a bra. I was in leggings thatwere one sneeze away from betraying me and a hoodie that may or may not have pizza sauce on the front.
How dare he look so hot this morning?
Especially when I didn’t think that my shower had actually gotten all the leaves out from my fall yesterday evening. I was planning on getting super hot once I got to the bed-and-breakfast. I wasn’t ready for this so early in the day.
“Need a ride?” he called, doing some kind of sexy prowl that had me gritting my teeth.
I crossed my arms and glared, pretending my heartbeat wasn’t punching itself in the face. “What are you doing here?”
“You keep asking me that, Trouble,” he said with a smirk, adjusting his hat in a way that made his forearm muscles flex. Not fair. Muscles should not flex like that without warning.
“You keep popping up in places,” I retorted, yanking my gaze away from him and staring at the engine of my car like it held all the secrets to the universe. “And not like a cute groundhog, might I add. Like a mole.”
“Oh, are groundhogs known for being cute? I wasn’t aware of that.” I could hear the stupid smile on his lips.
“Well, now you know,” I said haughtily. Even though I had no idea if they were cute or not.
Easton stepped closer, his presence warming the air around me like he had a personal force field of cologne and body heat. “Regardless, it looks like you might need a lift.”
I could feel his body next to mine, close enough that my brain went offline for a second and started writing poetry I was never going to admit to. There was something about the curve of his jaw and the scent of him that apparently was still calling for my destruction even after all this time…
Ugh, there was my stupid heart again.
It was freaking pining.
I groaned inwardly, swiping a hand down my face. “I’m fine. I was just on my way.”
Easton tilted his head, looking at my dead car with exaggerated skepticism. “Yeah, sure. Looks like you’re all set.”
I glanced from my sweet, stubborn Old Bessie to his truck. It gleamed in the morning sun, a big upgrade from the beat-up one he’d driven in high school. Figures even his truck would be sexier.
I, evidently, was cursed like that.
Easton leaned against my car, crossing his arms in a way that made the muscles in his forearms flex again. “You can sit here all morning and wait for a tow, or you can hop in and let me save the day.”
