Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 74956 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74956 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
A sob bursts from my throat before I can stop it, and the dam finally breaks.
Hot tears spill down my cheeks as I toss my cell into the open purse at my feet. Why have I been clinging to a dead phone anyway? Cell phones are just like people: they don’t magically come back to life, not ever, no matter how much you want them to.
I swipe at my face with the backs of my hands as another pair of headlights rounds the nearby curve. But this person is actually going the speed limit, then slower than the speed limit…
I straighten, heart beating faster, as the vehicle continues to slow as it nears my car’s flashing hazards. Then Stone’s SUV pulls onto the shoulder behind my car, and I exhale a ragged breath.
I should be relieved, comforted, but instead, for some dumb reason, the tears only come faster.
Stone jumps out, dressed in jeans and a short-sleeved Henley, looking rumpled and worried and unfairly handsome in the deepening twilight.
“Hey, there you are,” he says, jogging toward me. “Sorry, traffic was nasty getting out of the city.” As he gets close enough to see my face, his expression shifts from concern to alarm. “What’s wrong, Rem? Are you hurt?”
I shake my head, trying to regain my composure, but another monster truck chooses that moment to roar past. The wind buffets us both, making me flinch and my already frazzled nerves feel like they’re being electrocuted.
“No, I’m fine. Sorry, I’m just—” I break off with a sob, and to my absolute mortification, I’m suddenly crying even harder.
Not delicate tears, but full-on, ugly crying like I haven’t in years.
Stone is at my side in a heartbeat, pulling me against his chest. “Oh, babe. It’s okay, I’ve got you,” he murmurs into my hair. “It’s scary out here. I get it. People drive like assholes. I’m sorry it took me so long. There was an accident on the bridge, and everything was backed up for miles.”
I should pull away, wipe my eyes, and get my game face back on. But he’s so warm and snugly, and his arms feel so good.
So safe.
“I c-couldn’t get the jack in the right place,” I manage between hiccupping breaths. “It’s either broken or my car is deformed or I’m stupid. And the trucks kept getting so close, and half the people are texting and driving and—”
“I get it. Fuck people. I hate them. All of them. Except you.” His arms tighten around me as he kisses the top of my head. “And you’re not stupid. Spare jacks are notoriously pieces of shit. But I’ve got a good one in my truck.” He pulls back to guide my hair from my face, before brushing my tears away with a smile. “Let’s get you packed up safe and sound in the Range Rover, and I’ll come back and take care of the tire, okay?”
“I’m not a damsel in distress,” I say, my voice thick from crying. “I mean, I’m in distress, obviously. But I can help you. I know how to change a tire. I’ve done it before, just…not for a long time.”
He nods. “I believe you. But you’re really upset. And seeing you upset makes me upset. And when I’m upset, I forget how to use tools. This is a me problem, is what I’m saying, not a you problem. So, I’m going to need you to sit in the car so that my easily overwhelmed man brain can function.”
My mouth twitches toward a smile, even though my throat still feels too tight.
Damn, he’s sweet.
And he knows me way too well for a man I’ve tried to hold at a distance.
“Okay, then,” I say with a sniff. “I mean, if it’s the best way for me to help.”
He winks. “It totally is. Thank you for understanding.”
“Sure thing,” I whisper, leaning against him as he puts his arm around me. He leads me back to his truck, opening the passenger’s door like the gentleman he is.
A few minutes later, I’m cozy in Stone’s ridiculously clean SUV, my butt being warmed by unseen forces beneath my leather seat. I watch through the windshield as he efficiently jacks up my car with his much bigger, more serious-looking jack. His movements are sure and practiced, the strength in his body evident in every flex of his muscles as he tightens the lug nuts to hold the spare in place.
Basically, I am ogling my former fuck buddy from the sidelines, while he solves my problems for me, and everything about this moment is making me feel more ashamed.
I’ve never enjoyed asking for help, especially from men.
Dad drilled the importance of self-reliance into me when I was practically still a fetus. He never wanted his daughter to have to depend on a man to take care of her. After Mom died when I was six, the frequency of our “life lessons,” as he called them, only intensified. He was determined that I would be able to cope with anything, all by myself, the way he was learning to do now that the woman who had fed us and snuggled us and brought gentleness and grace and whimsy into our lives was gone.