by Kate Gilead
He tugs my door handle again. “Don’t gimme no problems, lady! I ain’t got…”
As if from nowhere, another figure materializes out of the swirling snow.
“You’re gonna have a problem if you don’t simmer down.”
Deep voice. Calm, and despite the words, the tone is amiable.
It’s a guy in a parka. He stops by my window and I peer upwards, way up. Alll I see is some light facial hair, an ear, part of a face and a head covered with a knitted cap.
“Mind ya biz! She fuckin’ rear ended me.” Angry Dude shoves the guy and starts yanking on my door handle again.
A large gloved hand descends on the Angry Dude’s arm and in one second flat, the Angry Dude has been whirled around, the one hand that was on my door handle now being forcibly held way up high behind his own back.
“Hey! Hey! Fuck you, don’t touch me, ya fuckin’…” His voice trails off into grunts as he struggles, flailing behind him with his free hand. “Ya fuckin’ hurtin’ me! Call the cops! Someone call the cops!”
“Are you professionally stupid or just brain-damaged?” The parka-wearing dude’s voice is still conversational. “It was an accident. These things happen. Now calm the fuck down.”
That voice…sounds kind of familiar.
“Yeah yeah, fuck, lemme go, Jesus…”
“I will, as soon as you promise to go move your car off the road like a good boy. Then I’ll get this lady’s insurance info for you. What’s wrong with you, anyway, bullying a helpless lady like that.”
Dumping my whole bag out on the passenger seat now, I’m frantically clawing through my stuff for my insurance card.
Who…why is that voice so familiar?”
“I want the cops! I wanna file a police report!!”
Thank God, there’s the card.
“Cops don’t come out for fender-benders,” the guy with the familiar voice is saying. “Your bumper isn’t even bent, it’s more like, scraped. You gotta get your car off the road and take it somewhere for a repair estimate. Then you file a police report. That’s how it works, buddy. Get with the program.”
“…the program.” The “program”…? That particular word…that voice…what the hell?
“Okay okay, just lemme go!”
The man with the familiar voice lets go of Angry Dude, who whirls around to get a look at who he’s dealing with.
Seeing he’s outclassed in size wises him up. He takes a step back and swipes at his mouth. “I’ll be right over there, in the breakdown lane.” He backs up another step and points at me. “I gotcha license plate number so don’t try nuttin’ funny!”
With another glare at the man in the parka, he disappears into the swirling snow and in a moment, his car’s signal light flashes as he makes his way across the lanes of traffic to wait on the side.
My rescuer stands watching for a moment, then steps over to my window. I roll it all the way down.
“You okay ma’am?” He bends down to look at me and…oh!
Oh my God!
Warm brown eyes under thick, straight brows. A light growth of beard surrounding a sensuous mouth.
A mouth I’ve thought about kissing more than once.
That face!
It’s a little older now but I could never forget it.
Brad Abernathy.
Holy shit!
My first work crush, ever. And it was a bad one.
I had it Bad for Brad, that’s how I used to think of it.
Man! But…but… what’s he doing here?
I’m staring at him, speechless. Snowflakes land here and there, on his hat, his facial scruff and an enviable set of eyelashes that I remember so well.
Then a big wet clump lands right on that tasty-looking bottom lip, and I remember how much I used to dream about taking that lip between my own.
Like no time has passed, I get a quick mental flash of leaning forward to melt that snow off his mouth with a kiss.
Then he licks it off his lips himself and squints at me.
His whole body stiffens and his head goes back a bit as his eyes widen in surprise. His mouth drops open, then closes again, followed by that sexy mouth breaking into a toothsome grin. The same grin that made me weak in the knees so many years ago.
He puts both hands on the door and leans a little bit closer towards me.
“Cherry?! Cherry Hill? From Borden Software!”
“Yep, it’s me! Brad Abernathy! Hi! I knew I recognized your voice! Especially when you said “Get with the program!”
“Wow, yeah! Of course! Programming was our life back then. What the…holy shit! This is…crazy!”
Those deep brown eyes are just the same as I remember.
Seems like he’s even looking at me the same way he always did…making me feel warm and loose, like he’s got some jovial but naughty thoughts playing behind that high, intelligent forehead.
He laughs, that boyish guffaw that used to make me smile back helplessly.
It still has the same effect. Even in my state of shock, I can’t help but smile.
It’s amazing how happy seeing him makes me feel, even after all these years.
Even now, in the midst of this mess.
We both start talking at the same time.
Me: “How did you…were you right behind me in traffic?”
Him: “Well, I gotta ask: What’s a girl like you doing out in a storm like this?”
We both pause, smiling. Then Brad says, “You first.”
“Oh, God. I’m on my way downtown and I…well, I got distracted and…” I shrug but I can feel my face flushing with embarrassment.
“Yeah.” He peers through the snow at the traffic around us. “Cherry, wow. It’s so nice to see you, despite the…you know.” He waves his hand at my car, then his expression turns serious. “Are you okay?”
“Y-Yes, I…thank you. I’m just, y’know, a bit shaken up.” I’m still staring at him, wondering if I’m dreaming or what.
“Sure, that’s to be expected. But, are you hurt? Whiplash?”
“No, I don’t think so.” I run my hands over my neck and then put them to my face, taking a deep breath. “I’m so embarrassed! I didn’t…oh! I have to call my…I’m expected somewhere and I’m late!”
“Oh, um, right, okay. Well, you gotta give your info to the guy there, so… better pull off the road and I’ll give him your info for you, like I told him. All right?” He stands up straight. “You think you can drive okay?”
“Yes. I just hope this thing starts,” I reply, turning the key in the ignition.
Rrrr-rrr-rrr….ka-chuuuuh….and nothing.
Brad frowns. “It should be fine. You weren’t going fast enough to damage anything in the collision.”
“Yeah, but it’s been stalling out lately and it did it again after the impact.”
I turn the key in the ignition again.
Rrrrr-rrrr-rrrr…ka-chuuuh….nothing.
I glance up at him. That little frown is deeper.
“Once more,” he says, nodding encouragingly.
Rrrr-rrr-rrr…ka-chuuuuh… nothing.
“Damn it!” I give the steering wheel a frustrated thump with my hand. “I think it needs a tune up or something. It’s old, and I…I just haven’t been wanting to spend any money on it.”
I try one more time, with the same result.
Poor Brad, standing there so patiently in the cold, clumps of snow falling all over and around him.
“Hmm. It sounds like the starter,” he says. He straightens up, looks around at the traffic, then bends back down. “I can take a look at it if you wanna pop the hood. If it’s not the starter, I might be able to get it going but we gotta make it quick. We’re blocking traffic here.”
I pop the hood release. He opens the hood, then disappears behind it. After a minute, his head pops back into view. “Try it now,” he calls out.
Rrrr-rrr-rrr…ka-chuuuuhhh.
He disappears again, then pops back into view after a moment. �
��Okay, one more try.”
Rrrr-rrr-rrr…ka-chuuuuhhh.
A cold feeling settles in my stomach.
He closes the hood then comes back to the window.
“Well Cherry, I got good news and bad news.”
“Okay?”
“Bad news is, it’s nothing I can fix right now. The starter might be seizing and needs replacing.”
I nod. “Okay. And what’s the good news?”
“See that tow truck in the break-down lane right there? That’s mine. Abernathy Towing, at your service.”
Also by Kate Gilead
Her Bestie’s Older Brother (Maple Mills Book One)
The Secret Virgin (Maple Mills Book Two)
Bossed (Maple Mills Book Three)
Don’t Baby Me (Maple Mills Book Four)
Motorhead (Maple Mills Book Five)
Her Dad’s Best Friend (Maple Mills Book Six)
Billionaire (Men on a Mission Book One)
Taking Heart (Men on a Mission Book Three)
Model Dad (Men on a Mission Book Four)
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