Page 81 of Whiskey Wednesdays

The man went quiet. “Where’s your car at?”

“At the ice hockey arena where I work.”

“My name’s Tyler, and I’m the general manager here. Tell you what, I’ll send someone over with another spare, and he’ll change both tires so you can drive the car back here. I’ll only charge you for the new tires.”

Emotion climbed up my throat. “Thank you, Tyler. I’m Isabella. If your store could do that for me, I’ll see if I can get a few tickets to the next Thunderbirds home game, okay?”

“No worries. Someone will be there in about thirty minutes.”

When I got off the phone with Tyler, I called the police. The officer who took the call also recommended I let the arena know since it happened in their parking lot. A police officer pulled up ten minutes later.

I was finishing up with him when a truck with a Tires for Less logo pulled up. A thin young man with gauges and a baseball cap came over and looked down at my car. His nametag read “Kirk.”

“Looks like they did a number on your paint job too,” he said.

Wincing, I studied the scratches. “I’ll have to call a body shop and see if I can get them buffed out. The car isn’t much, but it’s paid for.”

Kirk and I got to work. It was after eight when I finally made it home that night. The employees at the tire store had been the silver lining in my otherwise shitty day.

Connor called me a few minutes after I got home. “Where are you?”

I was tired, dirty, and a little cranky.

“I’m just getting to my apartment. A few problems came up after work. Where are you?”

He was silent for a moment. “At home. What kind of problems?”

I didn’t want to tell him. Somehow I knew he was going to make a big deal out of it.

“I had some car problems, and I had to get two tires replaced. It’s also late, and I’m tired and hungry.”

“What aren’t you telling me, sweet girl?” he asked quietly.

How did he know these things? And why did him calling me “sweet girl” in his deep, quiet voice make my vagina wet?

I yanked open the fridge and studied the contents. I had two tortillas and a block of cheese. Okay, good. I could make a couple of cheese quesadillas. Then I noticed mold on the cheese. Damn it.

“Why do you think I’m not telling you something?”

I pulled out a carton of almond milk. It lasted forever, thank goodness. Looking through my cupboard, I found a box of corn flakes. I desperately needed to go to the grocery store. I’d become too reliant on eating at my dad’s or Connor’s house.

He sighed heavily. “Because you had to replace two tires, and the chances of that being an accident are low to none. You also sound pissed and annoyed. Now what the fuck happened?”

“Someone slashed my two front tires and scratched a couple of bad words into my car door. And my cheese is moldy.” I tossed the cheese in the garbage, then I poured myself a bowl of corn flakes and took a big bite.

“For the love of God, Bella. Why the fuck didn’t you call me?”

I took another bite. “Because you were working, and it’s not your problem.”

“Where was your car parked?”

“In the arena parking lot.”

“What do the words say?”

I winced and put my bowl down. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Bella,” he growled.

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