Page 19 of Lemon Crush

I solemnly swear I will never write anything with sexed-up tentacles. Or tell anyone other than Chick that Wade is still my muse’s template for the perfect man.

When the uncomfortable silence stretched on too long, I said, “What’s the damage for Myrtle?”

He looked at me blankly. “Who?"

“The Honda? I’d like to know what she needed and how much it’s going to cost me.”

“You named your car Myrtle?”

I shrugged. “She was used when I got her, a little slow to start and bad on an incline, but she always got me where I was going so…Myrtle the Turtle.”

“I suppose that makes about as much sense as naming a Beetle after a cricket.”

And now he was smack talking Jiminy. What was he? The name police?

He towed you home and fixed your car.

I took a calming breath. “Did she need a lot of work done?”

“A new thermostat and four new tires, but the rest is in decent shape for its age. You might want to look into trading it in though. Sooner rather than later.”

“Fournew tires?” That was going to pinch. “They were fine yesterday.”

He put his hands on his hips and stared at me. “They hardly had any tread left, August, and the steel belts were showing on the front two. You were one rough speed bump or rainy day away from needing to call for another tow. Or worse,” he added in a dire tone.

I hadn’t realized. “And how much more is your arbitrary decision going to cost me?”

“It wasn’t arbitrary, and I didn’t get around to writing up the charges yet.” He looked away, not meeting my gaze. “Don’t worry, I gave you a discount.”

“I’m not worried,” I blustered, because I totally was. “And I don’t need any friends-and-family discount. I can pay for the repairs to my own car.”

Even with four new tires and the charge for a tow to the garage and back?

He was back to staring me down. “Nobody said you couldn’t.”

He had no way of knowing that money and I weren’t on the best of terms lately. Morgan didn’t even know the extent of it. Which meant all he was doing was helping out his friend’s kid sister. And I was being a jerk for no reason again.

“I’m a little off-kilter,” I finally said, in lieu of an apology. “I wasn’t expecting company or, you know, that whole chokehold experience. Thanks again for that. I haven’t had the best few days, then you showed up without warning and everything got awkward.”

Wade let out a long, relieved exhale. “Yes. Thank you. So fucking awkward.”

Not the most flattering reaction.

You did just spit out peanut butter in front of him and then give him shit for fixing your car.

“I meant thatImade it awkward.” He removed his faded ball cap to reveal the full head of dark hair with a few strands of silver at the temples and ran a hand through it in frustration. “And I’m the one that needs to apologize here. I brought your car back, but I should have called first to make sure this was a good time.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I didn’t think you’d answer,” he said bluntly. “Phoebe tells me you screen your calls.”

Entirely fair and probably true. Still, Phoebe was going to get a lecture from me about giving out that kind of information to the very people I screen my calls to avoid. “Well, for future reference, a one-line text from the driveway would have given me time to cover up and saved us both a lot of emotional scarring.”

Because I’d pointed them out like a moron, his gaze dropped right to my doxy-propped breasts.

And stayed there.

It was too late for this to be some hypoxia-induced hallucination. And unless I was reading his expression wrong, he didn’t look embarrassed, repulsed or emotionally scarred at all.

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