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“Great choice. To the Slurpee machine!”
She led the way and made herself a large grape one, and then offered Wreck a taste. He hesitated, then leaned forward and took a sip. His eyebrows arched up, and he looked impressed. “It’s not disgusting.”
She laughed and handed it to him, then turned for another cup to fill. “If this is your first one, you have to try the best flavors.” She poured three flavors, then put the lid on and traded him for her grape one, but when she took a sip of it, the slush had all melted and it was pure, warm liquid.
She nearly spat it out in shock. It tasted like Wreck had put it in the microwave for thirty seconds.
“You should hold this one,” he gritted out, quickly handing her the one she’d just made.
She took it from him and stared at his back as he made his way to the auto aisle and grabbed a couple containers of oil, then made his way to the counter to pay.
Stunned, she looked down into the clear lid of the drink, and sure enough, it was completely liquid. She blinked hard and shook her head. Today was so weird. She dumped the liquid outand refilled it, then made her way to the counter to pay for the drinks and the candies she had tucked under her uninjured arm.
Wreck strode right for the door and went outside before she could even sidle up to the counter. Strange.
She paid—and tried to pay for the one she dumped out, but the nice cashier said she didn’t have to—and then made her way outside to find Wreck leaning into the open hood of his truck.
“Thirsty truck?” she asked.
“It’s always something with this thing,” he muttered.
“Do you take it to shows?” she asked. “You don’t see many old, fire-engine red duallys like this. Even the chrome trim looks revamped.”
He turned from where he was pouring oil into it, and she could see his frown as clear as day. “You know trucks?”
She shrugged. “A little. Most of my friends in school were guys, and all they talked about was fixing up their trucks for races, and shows out at old Mill’s Landing. If you’re around the talk long enough, you pick up a thing or two. Plus, someday I wouldn’t mind driving a truck. I shop from time to time, but haven’t found the one yet.”
“Well, now’s a good time to pull the trigger. Pretty sure your car won’t ever be drivable again.”
A flashback of the way the metal had been all crunched up around the wide tree trunk made her flinch.
“Why do you keep doing that?” he demanded, easing out from under his propped-up hood.
“Doing what?” she asked.
“Looking like something hurts you.”
“I keep remembering the crash. Like…out of nowhere.”
He wiped his hands on a rag he’d settled onto the front end and watched her. “That’ll heal too.”
“Yeah,” she said in a chipper tone, ready to change the subject. “Want a sip?” She offered the new grape Slurpee. “Don’t touch it though, fire-fingers. It tastes better frozen.”
He’d been leaning in to take a sip but froze at the nickname, then sighed and proceeded to take a big drink. He probably drank half of it in one go!
“What’s your truck’s name?” she asked conversationally.
“Gus,” he rumbled, then lowered the hood, led her to the passenger’s side, pulled the handle of the door, and waited for her to scramble inside.
“Gentle—”
Slam!
“—man,” she murmured after he’d slammed the door, and was striding around the front of Gus. “If you’re busy today, I can just walk from here. I live very close.” Yep, she was giving him an out.
“You can’t be walking around with all that stuff in your arms. I’ll take you,” he ground out. “Where do I go?”
She pointed to the right. “See those apartment buildings in the distance? I have a rental house in the neighborhood behind them.”
