Page 48 of Love Is Ale You Need

Rylee

I wish that was the case, but no. I’m in the Porter’s parking lot attempting to change a flat tire.

Trey

Give me five minutes and I’ll be right there.

Rylee

You don’t need to come. I got this.

Trey

Have you ever changed a flat tire?

Rylee

No actually. I’ve watched others do it a few times, so I understand the concept.

Trey

I’ll be right there.

I tuck my phone into my back pocket. Resting my hands on my hips, I stare down at the flat and blow out a deep breath. I kneel and position the jack on the metal frame. With the vehicle still on the ground, I shove the lug wrench onto the lug nut and twist. It doesn’t budge an inch. I wipe the sweat from my brow and try again. Using all my energy, I push down on the wrench and nothing.

Tires rolling on the blacktop draws my attention. Trey’s SUV comes into view and parks next to me. He hops out and does a quick inspection of what I’ve done so far.

“That’s pretty good. You got everything in the right position.”

“The lug nuts are a little tighter than what I was expecting. I’ll have to hit the gym and work on lifting weights. These noodlely arms don’t quite cut it.” I hold up my arm and flex my bicep.

“You got some muscle there.” He squeezes my tiny bicep.

“Probably from lifting boxes of beer.”

“It’s still sexy.” He winks before squatting down to remove the lug nuts.

In a different life, Trey would be everything I’d want in a man. Bold. Confident. Assertive. Cocky, but in a playful non-asshole way once you get to know him. The last one is the one that always gets me in trouble, and that’s not what I need right now. That’s not what Abby needs. It reminds me of a sign that hung on the wall in my middle school history class. “Those who forget the past are condemned to repeat it.” I’ve made the mistake once. I don’t want to do it again.

Trey finishes removing the flat tire and swaps it with the spare. He inspects the old tire, searching the tread for a nail. I’m right beside him, searching as well. Then he freezes.

“I don’t think they’ll be able to patch this one.”

“Why? What’s wrong?” My brows furrow.

“It looks like something slashed your side wall.” He runs his finger over the gash on the inside of the tire.

“Damn,” I mutter to myself as I mentally calculate how much a new tire will cost. But it’s not just one tire. At the very least, I’ll need two, so it’s even.

“Did you run anything over while you were driving?”

“Not that I can recall.”

“We’ll buy you a new tire.” He rolls the flat tire to the rear of my SUV while I grab the jack and wrench. “I’ll follow you to the tire shop. There’s a place on Maple that’s reasonable.”

“Okay.” He gives me the address and I type it into my phone’s GPS.

Three stop lights and a right turn later, I’m pulling into the parking lot of the tire shop. At the counter, I glance down at the rectangular patch on his dark blue work shirt and read his name.Clint. I tell him about the flat tire and needing a new one, but I’ll buy two if I have to, but use the least expensive brand. After typing on the computer, he informs me it will be about an hour, and I can wait in the waiting area.

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