Page 5 of Betting Blind
I turn my eyes to the heavens and briefly close them. This cannot be happening. For all my blustering and big girl badassness, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little embarrassed to have them see me like this. I’ve barely gotten the car off the ground with my janky old car jack. For whatever reason, the car just won’t budge.
“Don’t worry about me, fellas. I was just about to finish.” I cross my arms and puff out my chest a bit, but deep down, I’m exhausted and starving. My warm, comfy bed sure sounds heavenly right about now.
Blue Eyes trails his cold gaze from the top of my head down past my apron, and I will the rapid beating of my heart to stop under his perusal. His face is impassive as he takes his time inspecting the goods, but as his eyes find their way back to mine, the barest hint of pity flit through them—a truly useless sentiment considering I have this whole thing perfectly under control.
The scattered pieces of over an hour’s worth of minimal work mock me from the road. Okay,mostlyunder control.
He squats to assess my handiwork, and a knowing smirk rests on Blondie’s face the moment he catches me staring a little too long at his friend’s perfect backside.
I shift uncomfortably and shrug.What?The man knows how to fill out a pair of jeans.
“What seems to be the problem?” he asks.
His southern drawl coats each word, and I take a moment to size him up. He towers over me and his friend—standing several inches above six foot—and his shaggy blond hair falls slightly over his eyes and ears.
“Well, for starters, this jack isn’t worth a shit,” I say, motioning to its position under my car and tossing the cranking tool onto the ground with a thud.
A full-blown smile splits his face as he kicks a boot-clad foot out, tapping Blue Eyes, who is still inspecting the car. “I’ll say.”
“What’s so funny?”
Scowling at the blond, the man on the ground stands, and I do my best to keep my eyes from traveling over the faded blue jeans hugging his lower body or his plain white T-shirt showing off his fit torso. The ropes of muscle in his arms are illuminated in the headlights of their truck as he swipes his dirty hands across his thighs.
Lord have mercy.
“This is Jack Campbell,” he says as the man he’s introducing continues to stare at me. “And I’m Derrick Johnson.” He reaches out his hand to shake mine, which is still covered in dirt from my labor.
“Nice to meet, y’all,” I grumble. “I’ve really got it under control guys, so—”
Jack’s hands rest in the front pockets of his jeans and he scoffs, shaking his head toward the ground.
I whip my head in his direction, stepping closer to him. When he doesn’t raise his eyes from the ground, I bend slightly, trying to capture his attention. “Excuse me?”
The corner of his sinfully full lips tilts up into a mocking smile, and he closes the gap between us, getting a little too close for comfort. The bright yellow lights play across the sharp planes of his face, and I hate to admit that he’s handsome. If I’m being honest, he’s more than just handsome; he’s downright sexy.
Damn him.
“Your axle is bent. It’s going to cost you at least a grand to fix it.” He motions to the shredded tire and lug nuts I’ve managed to remove that are scattered across the ground. “So, this tire change you’re attempting isn’t going to be much help.”
My jaw drops open and I pop it back shut.One thousand dollars.The words seep deep into my brain as I struggle to find a rebuttal. Momma’s loving smile is the first thing I envision as the weight of yet another burden falls on me.
No, not a burden, I correct myself.
We’ve found ways to live with her condition, and we’ll find a way to fix this situation, too. Turning back toward my car, I bite the inside of my cheek, resisting the urge to cry in front of them. I mentally tally up the amount of money I have saved, adding in our bills and other nuances we pay for, and come to an obvious conclusion—I don’t have a thousand dollars to invest in my vehicle right now.
“Hey, you okay?” he asks. Feeling the warmth of his hand on my shoulder, I follow the markings that blend with that ominous skull on his hand all the way up his arm until I can no longer see them. Harsh, bold lines form ocean waves that span the expanse of his bicep before mixing with what appear to be knots forming four identical sections, all intertwined just beneath the hem of his sleeve.
I’m tempted to lean into the touch, but instead, I turn sharp eyes on him, unforgiving of his rudeness the first time we met. He takes a step back, crossing his arms over his chest and a chill slides its way between us.
“Yeah, I will be.” I sigh. I’m sure Jules will let me pick up some of her shifts, but Bruce isn’t too keen on us working overtime. Maybe he’ll be willing to make an exception since this is my only mode of transportation. I cringe at the possibility of having to play the disabled-mom card to get more hours, but what other option do I have?
Jack brushes past me to take another look at the axel, and goosebumps come to life on my forearms.
“How’d you end up with an old beater like this, anyway?” Derrick asks.
I lose a little bit of my fight as his assumption of me becomes apparent. These guys don’t have to say what they’re thinking because it’s laced right into Derrick’s question. I’m just another pretty face to them.
“My dad passed away in a car wreck when I was five, and my momma, who was with him at the time, suffered serious injuries to her right arm and leg.” Jack cuts his eyes to mine quickly. “This was his car, but she handed it down to me.” I place my palm against the metal exterior and give it a loving pat. “She’s Old Reliable,” I murmur with a soft smile.
