Page 44 of Holding On To Good

True. At least that last one.

And that pissed him off but good.

“If you don’t want it,” he grumbled, his face heating—and goddamn her for making him feel so defensive and stupid and less than— “I’ll wear it.”

But before he could shove his arm in the sleeve, she snatched it from him. “I didn’t say I didn’t want it.”

She still didn’t put it on, just held it clutched to her chest while she studied him.

“What?” he ground out.

“You’re being courteous. It’s weird.”

Courteous. Jesus Christ. Who talked like that?

“I don’t want to get blamed for you catching pneumonia and dying.”

“People don’t get pneumonia from being out in the rain,” she told him, finally putting the coat on and flipping up the hood. “At least, not just because they’re out in the rain. It’s an infection of the lungs caused by bacteria or a virus. The only thing you get from being out in the rain is wet.”

“Thanks for the info.”

She zipped the coat. The sleeves were too long and she pushed them over her wrists. “Just trying to stop the spread of misinformation.”

He held out his hand. “Keys.”

She dug them from the front pocket of her jeans—no easy task given how wet the denim was—and dropped a key fob in his palm, careful not to touch him.

He folded himself behind the wheel, moved the seat back and turned on the ignition. Shifting into drive, he gently pushed on the gas. The tires spun. He put it in reverse. More spinning.

“I already tried that,” Verity told him helpfully as he climbed out. “Can’t you, like, hook it to your truck and pull it out?”

“I don’t have a hitch.” He wiped rain from his face. Nodded at her car. “Get in.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m going to push your car and I need you to give it some gas when I do.”

“Oh. Okay. I could help push. I mean, it’s pretty heavy.”

“Just get in the car,” he snapped. Holy hell, this was why he’d never played hero before. It was a pain in the ass.

Or, again, maybe that was just Verity.

“Fine,” she said. “God.”

By the time he walked to the back of the car, she was behind the wheel, had the door shut and the window down.

“Give it some gas,” he called, legs spread, knees bent, hands on the rear bumper. “Slowly.”

When she did, he pushed and kept pushing as mud shot back from the tires, splattering him from head to toe. Ducking his head, grunting with the effort, he dug in his heels and put all his weight behind it. The car rocked back and forth a few inches and he went with it, let the momentum of the forward motion help him push the car far enough to gain traction so Verity could pull up onto the road.

He was bent over, catching his breath when she got out of the car with a whoop. “You did it!”

Hands on his knees, he lifted his head. “Yay.”

Her eyes widened in shock and she made a squeaking sound. Reed straightened and glanced down at himself. His shirt and arms were splattered with mud, his jeans covered in it. He’d have to re-shower and change before heading to his shift at The Cock-Eyed Chameleon, a bar near the lake, where he washed dishes and cleaned up after the bar closed.

His shift he was going to be late for.

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