Page 7 of Wasted On Us

“No, not like that. I work at a car dealership. I can just ask the guys in the body shop to handle it for me.”

She looks from me to the car and back again, weighing her options. “Don’t you want to call the police? Make sure that there’s a paper trail so I can’t claim whiplash later or something? I mean, not that I would, obviously, but people do that, right? Like, there was this one time my friend, Janie, was in a fender bender, and the guy insisted on calling the cops, and it took hours, and they missed the movie they were going to see. It was one of those superhero ones, you know, with the capes and the flashy costumes. I never really get into those, but some people love them, and oh, speaking of love, I once had this cat named Lovey. She used to purr so loudly, especially when I was reading. You like reading? Books are amazing; you can travel to different worlds, and... and...” She trails off, her face reddening slightly as she seems to realize she’s been talking non-stop.

I can’t help but smile at her rambling, feeling that unexpected warmth in my chest again. The way she talks, with her thoughts spilling out unfiltered, is endearing. It’s real. And in that moment, I realize that I don’t just find it charming; I crave it. Her honesty, her passion, her beautiful, scattered thoughts—I want to know them all.

Regardless of how much this woman intrigues me, I’ve never in my life seen someone fight a favor so hard, except maybe my dad. Though his reticence stems from pride. Hers seems to stem from the paranoia that no one could possibly want to be nice to her. It must’ve been areallyshitty day.

“C’mon. We aren’t blocking traffic, so we don’t need to bother the police. And besides, you rear-ended me. That’s not going to look good for you on paper, no matter how you slice it. Just take the nicety for what it is. I’m a man in a position to do a good deed, and I want to do it.”

Just when she’s starting to acquiesce, my mouth opens again of its own accord, my heart locking my common sense somewhere in another dimension far, far away. “Here. Let me take you out for dinner to see if we can turn things around for you. You’re going to need a ride anyway.”

I regret it the moment I say it. I don’t want her to think I’m some kind of creep. She shuffles on her feet, but a blush forms on the tops of her cheeks. And she looks more than a little flattered by the suggestion.

“No. It’s okay. I can call…” She pauses for a moment, and I brace for the last thing any hopeful man wants to hear. That she’s going to call her boyfriend. Or worse, her husband. “I can call my sister.”

Thank God for small victories.

“Please. Let me do this.” I hope that I’m reading the signals right and that she actually thinks I’m harmless. And that there isn’t mace or a taser in her tote bag. There seems to be everything else she could possibly need in there, so I wouldn’t be surprised if there was. “You’re so upset. Dinner is the least I can do.”

“You’ve already done too much,” she asserts, and it feels like my heart is going to stop, and I will just wither up and die right there on the asphalt. I start to turn toward my car, but she stops me. “What about drinks? I could use a drink. And bonus… I won’t be driving.”

She looks back at her busted bumper and offers a small, sad laugh.

My stomach rumbles, a distracting growl that competes with the noise of the bustling city. It’s been hours since breakfast, and my body demands fuel. More than just hunger pangs though, there’s this unexpected desire to do more than just grab drinks. I realize that I don’t just want to quench my physical hunger, but this sudden, inexplicable curiosity as well.

Eden is a puzzle, an enigma wrapped in sky-blue eyes and a bewitching smile. She’s not like the women I usually spend time with. There’s an air of mystery about her, an intriguing complexity that lures me in. Her guarded demeanor and the uncertainty that flickers in her eyes make me want to peel back the layers and unravel the mysteries.

I want to understand what makes her tick, what lies beneath that spark boomeranging back and forth between us. Drinks might have been the easier, more familiar option, but that’s not as exciting as stepping into the unfamiliar, to linger in the possibility of the unexpected. I want to delve deeper, to know Eden, not just look at her. I guess you could say it’s a hunger of a different kind, a craving for connection that surprises even me.

It came out of left field, but even more intriguing, I want more of it.

I press my lips together. “We’ll compromise. Drinks and snacks. How does that sound?”

She tilts her head to the side. “What kind of snacks?”

The look in her eyes makes me worried that she might be one of those girls who only ever wants light snacks, avoiding the hearty comfort of a full meal. But deep down, I hope she’s not, and my desire to spend more time with her overcomes that fleeting concern. Being around Abuelita so much has made me really appreciate a woman who isn’t afraid of food, who relishes it as a rich part of the tapestry of life.

“Oh, you know… snacks. Light stuff. Like a steak, baked potato, and a salad, maybe a shared dessert,” I say, unable to hide a playful grin. “Just snacks… in that vein.”

I can feel the eagerness in my voice, and I’m unable to suppress the hope that Eden will take the bait. I want more time with her, and sharing a meal feels like a perfect excuse to get to know her better. Her reaction to my invitation will tell me a lot about who she really is, and I find myself holding my breath, waiting for her answer.

She looks at me for a second, then smiles. “Yeah. Okay. Snacks. I definitely haven’t eaten enough today. So, drinks and snacks it is.”

The body shop has a couple of tow trucks on standby at all times, and after a quick phone call, one of my guys is already on the way. Although the damage seems limited to the bumper and headlight, I’m concerned that the bumper might be loose enough to cause a problem near the front tire. It could be a potential hazard if it comes off while driving. I don’t think it’s 100 percent safe for her to wait so close to the road, or to drive the car in its current state, so after making sure she has everything out of her car that she could possibly need, I have her get into mine.

The surprise on her face when I close the door for her makes me a little sad. Obviously, she needs more gentlemen in her life. I start to wonder if the reason she’s so skittish is because some dirtbag didn’t treat her right in the past.

“Um…” she starts, twiddling her thumbs as we sit quietly in the car. “Maybe I didn’t think this through. How do I know you’re not a serial killer?”

She’s obviously joking, but I don’t want her to feel unsafe for even a second.

I reach for her phone. “Here’s my name, phone number, address, and my license plate number. You can send it to anyone you want, along with the address of where we’re going, if it makes you feel any better. And besides, anyone featured onCriminal Mindsusually doesn’t feed their victims first.”

Her eyebrows rise, and she gives me a lopsided grin. “You watchCriminal Minds?”

I shrug, nonchalantly. “I may have dabbled in an episode... or ten. My abuelita’s a fan. She’s convinced she can solve every crime before the team.”

She chuckles, her sky-blue eyes lighting up. “Okay, alright, fair enough. Your abuelita sounds like quite a character. But I’ll take you up on that offer.”

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