My car was there.
At home.
Parked all cozy at the curb in front of the house.
There were no words, as I sat staring from Micah’s car. I’d asked her to run me back by the house and then to the shop since I’d lied about Drew taking me. I figured I’d then bribe Drew to do just that. Take me to my car in Denning so that I could try out my new little key remote.
And yet here we were, looking at it.
“How did—”
“I don’t know,” I said.
But I did. And oh God, the feels. This was something last night’s man had done. He’d gotten up, driven to Denning, somehow talked someone into breaking a hundred different laws, obtained a new remote for my car, and then had it towed or driven all the way to my house.
Probably, knowing him, or knowing Hot Guy at least, he had it towed. Because if he remembered my address then he probably also remembered that my wallet was in there and wouldn’t have compromised that.
How bizarre was it that I felt I knew that about him?
And then he’d gone in to the office, and all hell came crashing in.
“So…” Micah said, one eyebrow quirked upward. “That’s weird.”
“Really weird,” I said, hitting the door handle before her questions continued. “I’ll—” I shook my head. “I’ve got nothing. I guess I need to call the dealership and see how this came about.”
“No kidding,” she said. “I want service like that!”
I got out and leaned back in. “Okay, this was fun, so—”
“See you tonight.”
“To—” Shit. “Tonight.” Damn it.
“Yes,” she said emphatically.
I closed my eyes. “Micah, it’s been a bitch of a couple of days. I’ve got a million things to start culling through, and I’m really not in the frame of mind to be social.”
“Exactly why you need to,” she said. “It’s Friday night, Gabi. You are single and not eighty and pissed off as hell and rightly so. You need to relax and blow off a little steam. Wear something sexy, and—”
“I don’t own anything sexy,” I said. It was a lie, but it was all probably dusty and smelled of 2001.
“Bullshit,” she said. “Wear that black and white off the shoulder blouse you have and your black jeans. And lots of silver jewelry. And your ankle boots. You’ll be hot as hell and still be comfortable.”
I blinked at her. “How do you know all my clothes I mostly never wear?”
“It’s my superpower,” she said. “I will pick—actually, Jackson and I will pick you up at eight.”
“I’ll be gnawing my own hand by eight,” I said.
She gave me a look. “You do know this is grown-up night in the bar area, not hitting up the buffet, right?”
“You do know I’ll be grazing on nachos or I’m not coming, right?”
Micah rolled her eyes. “Fine. Seven thirty.”
“Do you think Thatcher’s coming, too?” I asked, putting everything I had into making that question sound casual.
She shrugged. “Sounded like it, but you never know with him. If he gets moody and anti-peopley, he’ll come up with some excuse not to show.”
I scoffed. “Why doesn’t that work for me?”
“Is Drew coming?” she asked. “What do you think about hooking the two of them up?”
My blood stopped dead in my veins. “Yeah, no,” I managed.
She flipped her hand at me. “Bye, see you tonight.”
I watched her pull in and turn around and drive away, waving at me again. I turned to look at my car and pulled Thatcher’s gift from my pocket, hitting the button.
Everything clicked open for him.
I glared at my car with disdain.
“Slut.”
* * * *
I did nothing. All afternoon. I could have gone to the shop, I could have looked over the spring orders, I could have begun going through cabinets and drawers and downsizing. The friggin’ moving people were coming tomorrow morning, and most likely starting in the afternoon. I had so much shit to do, my shit had shit. And I responded to that knowledge by spending the entire afternoon in sweats watching Hallmark movies and eating chips and cheese dip.
If procrastination was a game sport, I would have won the trophy.
I even ordered pizza.
When my phone buzzed at six thirty, I hit the button to decline Micah’s call, knowing fully well she’d climb all over my ass about it. But I just wasn’t in the mood to be social. It buzzed again, and I declined it again, only to be shortly followed by the sound of my doorbell.
Thinking it was my pizza, I hopped from the couch, wiping melted cheese from my mouth with my sleeve, and threw open the door.
“The next time you send me to voicemail, you’d better be dying or fucking someone’s brains out,” Micah said, strolling past me. “I don’t see anyone ripping those really sexy—cheese-covered sweats off you right now, so I’m sad that you’re on your last breath.”
“You’re hilarious,” I said, closing the door behind her and muting the TV.
“And you aren’t ready,” she said.
“It’s only six thirty,” I said. And I’m not going.
“You need a little prep time,” she said, leaning in to sniff me. “And a shower.”
“Micah, come on, let me drown my misery in pizza my last night of pretending I live here,” I said. “You have Jackson, and—”
“Jackson is coming with Thatcher after all,” Micah said. “They’re meeting us there.”
I completely ignored the warm shiver that went down my back at the mention of his name.
“Okay, well you still have the both of them,” I said. “You don’t need me.”
“Totally need you,” she said. “And what’s more, you need you.”
“That makes no sense.”
“Don’t argue with me,” she said. “You’re going. Go get a shower. I’ll find clothes.”
“Or we could stay in and watch sappy movies and eat comfort food and drink—I think I have some wine.”
The doorbell rang again and I swiveled for the door.
“My pizza!”
“It’ll be here when you get out,” she said, wagging a finger in a circle for me to turn around. “The faster you get done, the faster we can eat.” She grabbed a chip and loaded up some cheese dip. “Wine gives me a headache, I’m holding out for one of Leo’s special whiskey sours.”
“It’s not karaoke night, is it?” I asked, trudging toward the bathroom. “I don’t have a good track record on Rojo’s karaoke night.”
As in I’d managed to avoid eight months’ worth of them since I’d gotten wasted and ended up riding a cowboy during “Ride A Cowboy” without my knowledge or consent. And then hurling into a stranger’s beer bucket.
“I don’t think so,” Micah said. “But if it is, I’ll sit on you.”
“Fine,” I said, pointing at the door. “Get my pizza. You’re paying for it.”