"You have got to be kidding me."
I cried out as I kicked my rear driver's-side tire.
The thing was flatter than a pancake. A slew of cuss
words slipped out of my mouth, rivaling the best sailors.
"Lynn?" came a voice from behind
me.
I spun around. "What?" I snapped,
realizing I was spinning around to glare at the one
and only Jack Edwards.
Damn my luck. And didn't it beat all, that a week
after meeting him, I was still getting all gooey inside
just looking at him.
I seriously needed some help. Professional help.
"Uh, need some help?" he asked
with a brow raised, framing his rather amused expression.
"No, thank you," I snapped,
glaring down at the terrible tire. Anything to keep
from looking at Jack. "I am perfectly capable of
changing my own tire." I opened the trunk, and
tried to pull my tire out. Which really, it wasn't that
heavy. It was a spare...
And it landed with a thud, flat as well.
"Shit."
Jack hid a smirk behind his hand. "Sure
you don't need anything?"
"I'm fine," I said a bit too
loudly.
"Sure you are," Jack replied.
He sashayed up next to me, and yes, it was a sashay,
he was far too damn smug for his good looks. Damn me
for getting all girly inside at the sight of him coming
over to rescue my damsel in distress.
Then he became the ultimate man.
He picked up the flat spare, looked at
it, and said "Yep, it's flat."
"What are you, a rocket scientist
in your spare time?"
"Only on the weekends."
I stuck my tongue out at him. Yep, I'm mature. Really.
Then Jack started rooting around in my trunk, pulling
out the jack.
"What are you doing? I can't put
that flat spare on." I put my hands on my hips
and glared at him.
Jack positioned the lift under my car,
and started raising the poor old Mazda that I drove.
"But I can take you to get this tire fixed."
He popped off the hubcap and started on the bolts.
What an arrogant ass! What am I? Incapable
of taking care of myself? I mean I can very easily change
a tire. It's not like it's hard. 'Course, truth be told,
I would call my dad, and have him come do it for me,
because, well, he's my dad, and he lives for this stuff.
"What if I don't want you to? I'm perfectly capable,"
I started to argue, but with amazing pit crew speed,
Jack had the flat tire off my car before I could finish
my sentence. I threw my arms up in the air in frustration.
"What?" Jack asked. "You
know where there's a place that can fix this?"
I shrugged. "There's a Pep Boys
or something like that around the corner."
'Course, I really couldn't help the part
of me that was excited that the new guy was helping
me get my tire fixed. He led me to a huge black Chevy
Tahoe, immaculate inside and out. I couldn't help whistling
at the perfection of it and feeling like crap that Jack
had to see my Mazda that seriously needed to be traded
in for something else.
The stars must have aligned just right, because as
Jack and I were climbing in, Tina Smith and several of her minions
were leaving the building. Instantly her gaze locked on mine, and
she shot daggers at me.
It took all my strength not to stick my tongue out
at her.
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