Page 39 of Holding On To Good

Chapter Seven

Verity blinked, then frowned at that mouth, the one she’d been watching so intensely.

Funny, but she could have sworn he said no.

Which couldn’t be right. She’d asked so nicely.

And people didn’t say no to her. Well, people other than her brothers, that was. They had no problem denying her the things she wanted, you know, silly little things like independence and to be treated as their equal.

Her phone buzzed. She ignored it.

“I’m so sorry,” she said because she would not be brought down to his low level of rudeness, no matter how hard he tried to drag her there. “Could you please repeat that?”

“No.”

“No, you won’t repeat it?”

“No, I won’t help you.”

Huh. She hadn’t misunderstood.

She let her smile fade. Being nice hadn’t gotten her anywhere. Might as well try something new.

“You really suck at this whole heroic thing, you know that? This is how it works. Me” —she pointed to herself— “damsel in distress. You” flipped her hand so she now pointed at him— “Good Samaritan. Good Samaritans don’t tell damsels in distress no. They’re kind and helpful and civil. They are not mean, impolite and surly. Surly,” she continued, “means curt. Churlish. Ass-ish.”

That lone eyebrow shot up again. “Ass-ish? I’ll have to take your word for that since we both know I’m no scholar.”

Her face flamed. Remorse and shame made a sickening combination in her belly. Oh, how far she’d sunk, acting like she was smarter than him.

Better than him.

“Just like I’m no Good Samaritan,” he continued before she could stutter out an apology. “You’ll have to find someone else to save you tonight.”

“Who the hell are you talking to?”

The voice, the same one that’d yelled earlier, had her startling.

Reed didn’t look away from her when he called back, “No one.”

She stood on her toes, trying to peer over his shoulder, but he shifted to block her view. “Maybe your dad could—”

“No.”

“But—”

“No,” he repeated, stepping forward, forcing her to scurry back like some frightened mouse. He shut the door behind him. “You want me to call that tow or not?”

She sighed, her phone buzzing repeatedly in her pocket.

“Not,” she said, letting the call go to voice mail.

So much for all her hoping and praying. He wasn’t going to help her. And it was too late, raining too hard, and was too dark out for her to be traipsing around, trying to find someone else who would. It was time to move on to Plan B.

She had to call Urban.

It was the right thing to do. What she should have done in the first place. She had to take responsibility for her actions and accept any consequences associated with those actions. Even if those consequences meant having her car taken away or worse. Having Urban mad at her.

Being an almost-adult sucked.

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