Page 3 of Not Made to Last

I’m in denim shorts and a plain white tank, no makeup, my hair in a messy knot. My brow bunches as I glare at him. “I didn’t realize my attire screamed ‘lacking financial wealth.’” I should’ve hit the gas the moment I saw him.

He sighs, rolling his eyes dramatically. “That’s not what I meant.”

I don’t care what you meant, I say. Not out loud. Just to myself. Because fuck him and his judgmental ass. I face forward, put the truck in gear, and begin the drive, waiting until I’ve rounded a corner to glance up at the rearview, at Max in theback seat, headphones on, eyes focused on his iPad. I’ll be sure to check in on him later.

Rhys must sense my concern because he turns his entire body around, his injury seemingly forgotten. “You okay, kid?”

Through the rearview, I see Max look up and nod once.

Rhys extends his arm, his hand a fist, ready for knuckles. “I’m?—”

“Timothy!” I cut in.Timothy?It was the first name I could think of, and I blurted it out before I could stop myself. Max doesn’t need to know who he is. In fact, I’d highly prefer it that way.

“Right.” Rhys draws out the single word. “Timothy.” The humorous lilt in his tone has me cringing. He’s still facing Max when he asks, “And you are?”

Without thinking, I reach out, place my hand on the side of his head and force him to face forward. “He’s… off limits.”

2

Rhys

Off limits?

The fuck does that mean?

If this girl has a kid, then… it’s whatever—no big deal.

Maybe she’s ashamed of having a kid young, out of wedlock or whatever. I don’t know. The things people are self-conscious about these days blow my mind.

Ignoring the dull ache pulsating from my hip, I glance behind me again. The boy’s around five or six, dark-skinned, with thick glasses sitting crooked on his nose. Then, I focus on the girl behind the wheel. If I had to guess, I’d say she’s my age, give or take a year. Dark hair piled high on her head, perfectly straight nose, and rounded cheeks—stained pink from her blush.

She’s cute; there’s no doubting it, but considering what’s transpired the past few minutes, she might also be insane.

Just my type.

I peek over at the kid again. Maybe he’s not hers, at least biologically. Not unless his dad’s genetics are far stronger than hers. It’s possible. Or perhaps she’s just babysitting. But thenwhy not just say that? Why attempt to shield us from each other? Also, why the fuck am I Timothy?

Hmm… now I’m intrigued.

And my intrigue never ends well.

“So…” I start, unsure where to go from here. “How are you?” Odd thing to ask considering what got us here, but what else is there to say?

“You mean besides hitting you with my truck hard enough that I have to take you to emergency?” Her eyes flick to mine, muddy brown beneath long, dark lashes. “I’m doing… fine…” The last word comes out as a question, and she focuses on the road again.

I focus on her.

On her teeth as they clamp down on her full bottom lip—worrying. On her eyebrows as they lower with each passing second. On her eyes as they continuously shift from me to the road and back again.

I bite back a smile, because she looks like a modern-day Snow White, only, unlike the fairy tale, this little princess wasn’t wandering through a forest and stumbling across a cottage. No. Tonight, she was driving around in an old truck… and slamming straight into me.

Some might call it fate.

Kismet.

A series of unfortunate events.

“Everything okay?” she asks quietly, glancing at me quickly with her eyebrows raised. She just caught me watching her. Staring at her. Scrutinizing every damn inch of her.

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