Page 19 of Need You to Choose Me

I gape at the note.

Forty-three.

Alex.

Setting the note down, I pick up the box and examine the extensive settings this thing has. Is he a mind reader?

“Touche, Alex,” I murmur aloud, shaking my head at the unwarranted present.

I look at my phone sitting beside the box on the bed. He expects me to text him, which is exactly why I’m not going to.

And I’mdefinitelynot going to use it.

Biting down on my lip, I tuck the note into my nightstand. Right next to the box that I most likely won’t open.

Probably.

*

My hands gripthe steering wheel as the sports anchors talk about the hockey highlights from the previous week. I know I could easily flip it to something else, but apparently I like torturing myself. “The Penguins almost made a comeback after theirbrutal 1-5 loss against the Detroit Red Wings. It’s too bad they slipped up on the final game. We could have seen Pittsburgh advance for the first time in years.”

“If it hadn’t been for Ritchie Rodrigez getting hurt, they might have stood a better chance. I’m sure everybody was glad to see him back on the ice against Winnipeg.”

“It was a risky move on Pelfrey’s part putting O’Conner in considering the rookie’s performance during his game against Tampa Bay Lightning. Maybe if they kept Rodrigez in until the end, they would have stood a better chance at—”

I turn the radio off until I’m bathed in nothing but my tires against the empty stretch of road. “I should have made sure my damn AUX cord was in the car before I left campus,” I mutter to myself. This is what I get for half-ass packing at midnight and choosing to leave the rest of it for this morning. I slept past my alarm after snoozing it four times and then hastily got up an hour after I was supposed to.

I packed my clothes and other chargers, andpossiblyAlex’s gift, but not the damn AUX cord that would make this trip way more tolerable.

Blowing out a breath, I glance at the time and realize I have at least another hour and a half before I make it to my mom’s house outside of Burlington. I’ve already stopped to pee twice thanks to the giant cup of coffee I decided to buy at Dunkin before hitting the road. And I’d rather not say how many snacks I mindlessly consumed while jamming out to whatever Hot 100 song was blasting through my speakers. A few cars driving by probably heard my tone-deaf versions of Adele and Taylor Swift, but I was enjoying myself so I couldn’t care less about my less than stellar performance.

After another twenty miles, my bladder demands attention by doing some karate-kid shit in my gut. Only then do I pull into the closest gas station and take care of business. And just as I’mopening the driver’s side door to drop the plastic bag of savory goodies into the passenger seat, I see the deflating front tire.

“Are you kidding me?” I squat down and spot a nail sticking out of it. Standing up, I kick the useless piece of rubber and grab my phone. I already know that calling Mom is out of the question because she’s at her book club for at least two more hours. And since there’s usually a lot of wine involved with their colorful discussions about whatever smut they’re reading, I won’t be able to ask her to pick me up.

Which leaves my brother. I’d gotten a flat last year and never replaced the spare I’d changed it with like he’d told me to do countless of times. He’s not in Vermont right now, but I know he’ll have somebody to call. His connections are vast compared to mine and usually work quicker because of what he does for a living. It’s only these instances I like him tapping into his sports stardom for me to name drop himself for a quick service.

“What’s wrong?” Sebastian asks as soon as he picks up. We haven’t talked in a few weeks, which isn’t abnormal. “You there? Or did you butt dial me again?”

“No, I’m here.” I sigh heavily, already internally cringing when I see how low the tire has gotten. Between my low cell battery and lack of service bars, I know I need to just get it over with and tell him the issue. “I need help with something.”

“Anything.”

“I need you to…callatowtruck.”

“Uh…what?”

I say it again just as quickly.

“Dude, slow the fuck down. What the hell are you saying?” He sounds tired, making me feel bad for taking up his time when he’s probably been at practice for most of the morning.

“I have a flat tire, and I need a tow truck.”

Silence.

I bite my inner cheek. “I don’t have a spare…”

More silence.

---