Page 7 of A Me and Him Thing
He simply points a few rows over. “My car’s right there.”
“Sure it is.”
He ignores my ingrained sarcasm. “Car trouble?”
“Aren’t you observant.” I’m not trying to be rude. I enjoy bantering with him.
“One of my finer traits.”
This thick-skinned guy has a comeback for everything without missing a beat and seemingly doesn’t get offended.
I like that. Maybe he could actually like me.
“My car’s dead. I’m fine, though. I was just about to call my motor club. I got this. I don’t need to be rescued.”
“Maybe you do,” he says, holding my gaze with a fair amount of intensity.
“I don’t.” My tongue might not stutter, but my heart does.
“May I wait with you? It’s not safe, and I’d rather not leave you here alone.”
Alone. I’m always alone. I don’t want to be alone.
A firm “No, thank you” sits on the tip of my tongue. But it dissolves when a man pushing his life’s belongings in a shopping cart ambles past. Plus there are two men lurking in the shadows of the building in front of me, the light of their cigarette butts two shining orange dots in the darkness. Downtown Portland in the middle of the night is not the best place to be stranded and alone.
And this man has me intrigued.
“I don’t hang out with strange men,” I tell him, unable to drown out my feisty side.
“We have that in common.”
I keep a straight face. Just barely. “Are you an ax murderer?”
“I left my ax at home. You’re safe for now.”
“Robber?”
“Caught. I’m dying to steal that Hawaiian girl with wobbly hips on your dashboard. I’ve always wanted one.”
It’s so awful. But Josie and Jordyn chose it for me as a present when Sawyer gave them free rein to buy me something. That alone makes it a prized possession.
I ignore the urge to laugh. “Serial killer?”
“You’d have the privilege of being my first.”
“What an honor. That’s not something I can pass up.”
“Can I wait with you?” he asks again, his half smile ever present as words seem to glide off his tongue.
A whiff of his divine cologne teases my senses again. “That would be nice, thank you.”
He walks around the front of my car, casually waving at a coworker. No, employee. “Have a good night,” he says, again not raising his voice. If people have to strain to hear him, he lets them.
That voice makes me feel warm all over.
I unlock the passenger door, and he slides in. He’s quiet while I make the call to my motor club. “They’ll have a tow truck here in twenty.”
“So they’ll be here in forty,” he states in his soft manner.
