Chapter 8

With the window's glass no longer between us, I could see his face more clearly now. Of course, it was annoyingly beautiful, which just made everything worse when he said, "You mean your car?"

What other car would I mean? Still, overly conscious that I was about to ask him for a favor, I tried to sound more polite than I felt. "Yes, actually." I winced. "It, uh, won't start."

His voice was deadpan. "I noticed."

God, did he have to be so awful?

Screw politeness.

"You know," I said, "I'm only out here because I thought I was doing you a favor."

His expression didn't change. "You mean the check?"

"Of course, I mean the check." I glanced toward the darkened fire pit. "Not that it's worth anything now." Under my breath, I muttered, "Well, except as firewood."

His mouth twitched at the corners. "Be a pretty small fire."

Oh, so he was making fun of me now? "Fine," I said. "I'll just check the engine myself."

I opened the driver's side door and pushed it outward until it bumped against his legs. When he made no move to get out of my way, I said, "Are you going to let me out or what?"

"Nope."

"Why not?"

He flicked his head toward the front of my car. "Pop the hood. I'll give it a look."

I bit my lip. I didn't know how to pop the hood. Probably, I should've considered that before threatening to check my own engine. With growing embarrassment, I lowered my head to study the car's interior. Maybe the hood-popping thingy was near the floor or something?

Sounding almost amused now, the guy said, "Check under the steering column."

Praying he meant the steering wheel, I ducked my head for a better look. Finally, I spotted the latch near my left knee. I gave the latch a pull and heard a metallic pop.

Thank God.

I sat up straighter and watched as the guy strode to the front of the car and lifted the hood.

I poked my head out the window and called, "Do you want me to turn the key or anything?"

But already, he was lowering the hood back down. When it slammed shut, I felt my jaw tighten. Aside from ignoring my question, he'd looked at my engine for like ten whole seconds.

Thanks for nothing, buddy.

When he approached the window, I gave him my snottiest smile. "So, you figured it all out, huh?"

"Yup."

I blinked. "What?"

"It's the distributor cap."

"Oh." That didn't sound too bad. Feeling even more awkward, I asked, "So did you tighten it back up?"

"It's not loose. It's cracked."

Of course it was.

At least it was only a cap. That didn't sound terribly expensive. I asked, "Do you know where they sell them?"

He gave me a look. "Yeah. The auto parts store."

"Well, obviously," I said. "But I mean, is it something they might sell at a gas station?"

"Doubtful." He shoved his hands into his pockets. The motion made his biceps pop in a way that was stupidly distracting. "My guess? You're looking at a special order."

Disappointment coursed through me. "For a stupid cap?"

"It's not like you're driving a Chevy."

The guy did have a point. The car had been my mom's. It was foreign, exotic, and from what I gathered, fairly expensive. I didn't even know its exact value, because I didn't want the temptation to sell it.

My mom had adored this car. It had been a gift from my dad for their tenth wedding anniversary. She'd driven it everywhere. Even now, there were days, mostly in the summer, when I swear, I could still smell the ghost of her perfume, lingering lightly on the white leather seats.

Or maybe that was just wishful thinking.

Feeling more deflated than ever, I glanced around. What now?

I wasn't that far from my house. It was only a few miles. Maybe I could walk?

My stomach sank. No. I couldn’t. Even if I ran, it would still take forever. And then, I'd need to shower and change my clothes, unless I wanted to stink up my own party. Plus, I'd still need some way to get to T.J.'s.

Damn it.

Out of easy options, I looked up, stiffened my spine, and made myself say the thing I'd been dreading. "I don't suppose you can give me a ride?"

He frowned. "You're asking me?"

Well, that was nice. Apparently, the jerk was back.

I made a sound of annoyance. "Never mind." I turned away and muttered, "Forget I asked."

His voice, softer now, reclaimed my attention. "I just mean, I've been a total asshole."

Surprised, I turned to look. "Excuse me?"

He glanced away. "Sorry."

For what? Swearing? Or being a jerk? Or was that merely a sarcastic comment. Hoping for the best, I said, "Does this mean you'll give me a lift?"

His jaw tightened. "You do this a lot?"

Oh, for crying out loud. "No," I snapped. "I don't do this a lot, because normally, I don't find myself at a stupid campsite, giving a stupid check, to a stupid guy who, for whatever reason, totally hates me."

He looked at me for a long moment. And then, in a voice that was annoyingly calm, he said, "You want to hear what's stupid?"

I already knew what was stupid – my grand idea to come out here in the first place. I looked away and muttered, "Just forget it."

Asshole.

After all, that's what he'd called himself, right? No point in arguing.

His voice, more gentle now, drifted over my anger. "Look at me." He paused. "Please?"

Oh, great. He'd said please. Now, I couldn’t ignore him. Stupid politeness.

Reluctantly, I turned to look. In the shadows, he looked dark and dangerous, with his bulging muscles and grim expression.

He said, "What's stupid is to get in a car with some stranger." His mouth tightened. "Some guy you don't even know. At a fucking campground." He made a scoffing sound. "At night, for Christ’s sake."

My jaw dropped. "Well, that's rich. I wouldn't even be here, if it weren't for you."

"Yeah? But you still don't know me."

Maybe he had a point, but I was in no mood to agree with anything this guy said. I lifted my chin. "I do, too. You were at my house today." I gave him my snottiest smile. "Remember?"

"Yeah. And you saw how that went."

Whatever. But desperate times called for desperate measures. And I was desperate. I wasn't just stranded. I was stranded and had a bunch of people waiting for me.

What, exactly, were my options?

Call Derek?

Oh sure, because that would be totally lovely to have him show up here, just to have him laugh in my face and say, "I told you so." And then, I could eat popcorn or something while he got into another raging fight with the painter guy.

Or who knows? Maybe I'd be the one fighting the painter guy, and Derek could eat popcorn.

Come to think of it, I didn't even want a ride from this guy.

Screw this. I pushed open my car door. Just like before, it bumped against his legs. I said, "Are you going to move aside or what?"

Finally, he stepped back.

About time. I opened the door wider, reached for my purse, and stepped out of the car. I slammed the door shut behind me and began stalking toward the campground entrance.

Behind me, the guy's voice cut through the darkness. "Where are you going?"

I hollered back, "Like you care." And then, ignoring the glances from neighboring campsites, I looked straight ahead and kept on walking.

Jerk.