13. Chapter Thirteen

It's fucking cold, and my fucking truck won't start. And given that it's Wednesday morning—the one day of the week where if I'm late, Mel might really actually fire me—I'm pretty much fucking screwed.

I slam the driver's door closed with another curse and then pull my cell phone out of my pocket and start making phone calls. Mel first. Then Angie. Then reluctantly Chuck. But given that it's not even five thirty yet, I shouldn't be surprised when no one answers.

Fuck. I shove the phone back in my pocket, pull my coat around me, and start off down my driveway. I'm gonna have to walk. Shit, at this point, if I want any chance of getting to work on time, I'm gonna have to run.

I'm all for running as a hobby. Just not two and a half fucking miles at fucking five fifteen in the morning. Fucking truck.

My hands are already aching from the cold by the time I get to the end of the driveway and start down the road, but I pull my phone back out, open up the recent calls list, and click on Mel's number again. Maybe she'll answer this time so I can at least tell her I'll be late and beg her not to fire me. Goddamn fucking truck.

The phone starts ringing, and I stuff my free hand in my pocket as I pick up my pace, walking briskly toward town.

After about three rings, when I'm certain it's about to go to voicemail again and I can just kiss my job goodbye, there's a click and a cough, and then a muffled, very sleepy, very sexy male voice says, "Hello?"

Shit.

I stop dead in my tracks and pull the phone away from my ear for a second. Shit, that's not Mel's number. That's not even close to Mel's number. What the fuck?

I close my eyes and slowly bring the phone back to my ear, trying and failing miserably to suppress a groan.

"Josh, hey. Shit, I'm sorry to wake you up. I must have hit the wrong number. I was trying to call Mel because my truck won't start and I'm gonna be late, and—and shit, man, I'm sorry."

There's some rustling, and then he says, "Oh, yeah, no problem. I, uh, I can give you a ride if you want. Let me just throw on some clothes and—"

"No, no, no, that's, uh, that's okay. I can't..."

That would help me so much. But I can't ask that of him. I mean, it's not even five thirty in the morning and he's on vacation and—shit, I just lost another minute. I start walking again.

"Where are you?"

"Where—huh?"

"Where are you? Does your shift start at five thirty? I can pick you up, and then maybe you won't be late."

"Um, I... You—you don't have to do that. I'm just... It's just a couple miles. I can walk. I'm already walking. It's—"

"Coop, where are you?"

"Uh, I'm..." Shit. I glance back over my shoulder toward my dilapidated old shack of a house and then forward again. And my breath freezes as I let out a huff of air. Fuck, I'm cold. And I will be late, even if I could convince myself to sprint the whole way. And even though it's probably a terrible idea, I'm totally going to let him come pick me up. "I'm about two and a half miles west on Route 6."

"I'm on my way. Be there in just a few minutes," he says. There's no hesitation, no frustration or reservation or... anything.

"O-okay. Uh, thanks."

"Yeah, no problem." There's a noise like a car door shutting. "See you in a few."

"'Kay."

And he hangs up.

I shove my phone back in my pocket and keep walking—at least it'll help me stay warm. It's not more than another three or four minutes when I see a set of headlights coming toward me. Shit, he's actually here—he actually came.

I move over a little farther onto the shoulder as the car slows, passes me, and then does a U-turn and pulls up beside me. And he's there, looking sexy as hell with his hair all ruffled and out of place like he just got out of bed—because, fuck, he did just get out of bed—and this huge-ass sexy-as-fuck grin, and god, I'm suddenly much warmer.

I quickly open the door and climb in, groaning with relief as a rush of hot air blowing from the heater hits me.

"God, it's fucking cold out there. Thanks, man, I really appreciate this," I say. I put my seat belt on as he pulls back out onto the road, and then I lean forward and stick my hands right in front of the vents.

"Yeah, no problem. What's wrong with your truck? Something simple, I hope?"

I can see as he looks at me for just a moment and then back to the road, and I realize right then how close we are. My face suddenly feels hot. God, he's—I risk a quick glance, and there's a sensation like fire that rips through me.

He looks at me again, his eyebrows raised. And god, his eyes are just—shit. I twist back to look forward again.

"Um, yeah, I think it's the battery. It's been giving me trouble for a while. But—"

"—it's worse in the cold weather," he cuts in.

"Yeah."

"Ah, at least that's an easy fix."

"Uh, yeah, yeah. An easy fix, for sure."

He's right. It would be an easy fix—if I had the money for it. As it is, I was just finally able to get caught up on rent after my shift yesterday, and I certainly don't have an extra hundred bucks sitting around for a new battery for my truck.

I lean back in the seat and close my eyes, na?vely hoping that if I'm not looking at him, maybe I can ignore the tingling feeling that's racing through me. But I can still feel him there, so fucking close. Just inches away. And it's... god, I think the word is alluring. Or maybe captivating.

Fucking irresistible.

I give up and turn my head sideways just a little, and I let myself gawk. I mean, not gawk, but shit, he's good-looking. Even with his mussed hair and coat that's not on completely straight and really, really sexy jawline with just a shadow of stubble.

He glances at me again and grins, and fuck, it's even worse now because I just want to reach out and touch him. Somewhere. His cheek. His lips. His neck.

God, this is dangerous. I mean, he's engaged. And probably straight. And I need to remind myself of these things. But that's really hard when he's fucking looking at me like that.

I smile tightly, because that's all I can manage right now, and then I force myself to look away—ahead, down the road, where the main strip through town is coming up much too fast.

He slows down a bit as the speed limit changes and then clears his throat. "I'm, uh, not doing anything later today, I think. So, you know, if you need a ride home or whatever when your shift is over, it's no problem. Just give me a call."

I can feel his eyes on me for maybe half a second, and another warm tingle shoots down into my toes. It's probably just the heat from the car—the heater is on full blast and it's pretty warm in here, after all. Maybe.

Hell, who am I kidding? Yeah, that's not it. God, that's not even fucking close.

No, it's this unreasonable, unhinged, completely unwarranted excitement at the fact that I'm getting to see him again. Even if just for a few minutes. And the fact that I might get to see him again this afternoon.

"Yeah, yeah. Um, you're not busy?"

He's quiet for a moment before he says, "No, I shouldn't be."

I glance over at him again. He's got his eyes trained forward now, and there's a little bit of tension in the way he's gripping the steering wheel. Shit, I must have said something wrong.

"Is everything okay?" I feel like it should be an innocent question, but for some reason it's really not, and when he nods quickly and forces a smile, I know he's lying. And that doesn't feel great. In fact, it feels pretty fucking rotten.

But there's gotta be a reason, and that reason is really none of my business. Probably. I mean, it's probably none of my business.

He slows down again and then turns and pulls into a parking spot right at the front of the diner.

"Five twenty-eight. Two minutes early," he declares, grinning at me with a sort of fake cheerfulness.

"Heh, yeah. Uh . . ."

Fuck. I'm torn. I could be on time and not lose my job but only be able to offer him another simple "thanks" for saving my ass. Or I could maybe stick around for a few minutes and see if he might want to talk about whatever's bothering him.

I don't really get a chance to decide, though, since my phone chooses that second to ring. Loudly.

"Ah, shit, sorry, um..." I pull the phone out of my pocket and groan. "It's Mel. I'd better, um—I mean, I gotta go."

I silence the call and glance back over at him, and he's watching me now, all the tension gone from his eyes. All the negative tension, that is. There's still something else there—something that somehow feels all fucking warm and hopeful. He gives me a small nod.

"Just call or text and let me know if you need a ride home later," he says. And oh, his voice is warmer and deeper, and his smile's different. Fuck, what—what happened just now that changed it? Why's it so obvious and different and... god, so sexy?

"Right, yeah. Thanks again, man. You're a lifesaver. Really."

He smiles again, and I can't help as my eyes find his lips. And I can't help as my heart stutters and my fingers itch to reach out and touch his cheek. But shit, I have to go, and...

The phone rings again. I let out a sharp breath, force a quick smile and nod, and then climb back out of the car and give him the fucking most awkward little wave ever before spinning around and jogging toward the diner.

Five thirty on the dot. Totally fucking on time.

But I doubt that's gonna matter since there's no way I'm gonna be able to focus with the way my whole body seems to be buzzing and warm and tingling. Ah, dammit, Josh.

I glance over my shoulder as I reach the door, hit by some strange urge to see him one more time. And the look on his face as he watches me both doesn't make sense and sends another jolt through me.

I manage to wave again. And it's stilted and awkward. Again. But it makes him smile, and so it's totally worth all the awkward I can manage.