Page 3 of Nerdy or Nice
I stared down at the stroller.Stupid wheel.
Here I was, maybe a dozen houses away from my aunt's place. It wasn't far, but the stroller in front of me was dead in the water – or more accurately dead in the snow – even if itwasstill standing mostly upright on its three remaining wheels.
This stretch of sidewalk hadn't yet been shoveled, which meant that evenbeforewheel number-four had popped off to heaven-knows-where, I'd been struggling to keep the contraption moving.
The winter wind was too brisk for my liking, and I stifled a shiver as I considered my options. Should Icarrythe stroller? I bit my lip.CouldI?
Not likely.The stroller was big and heated, which kept its occupants nice and comfy while doing little to minimize the stroller's weight.
I tried to think.Should I call for a ride?
Sure, a ride would be nice, but who would come?
My two fellow sitters were both gone until tonight, and anyone else on my emergency call list was at least thirty minutes away.This left me where, exactly?
I gave the stroller another long, worried look. Okay, I was missing afrontwheel, but I still had both wheels in back. Maybe I could pop a little wheelie and teeter my way back to the house?
Hey, it was worth a shot, right?I pressed downward on the stroller's handle and gave a little jump when a male voice from somewhere behind me said, "I hope that baby's got wings."
I whirled to look and spotted a big, blond guy standing only a few paces away.
I blinked through my oversized glasses. Where in Santa's britches hadhecome from?
The lenses of my glasses had grown slightly foggy, and my light blonde hair, which I'd wound into its usual bun, wasn't cooperating at all. Thanks to the winter wind, a few loose strands had escaped their bobby pins and were now flapping around my face, as if trying to hide the stranger from my blinking eyes.
I gave a silent scoff. Good luck withthat.
The guy was tall and muscular with wavy blond hair and a cocky smile, like he knew somethingIdidn't – probably about tricky tires and the odds of a wheelie going badly.
He definitely looked the type – to pop a wheelie, that is. He wore dark jeans, sturdy-looking boots, and a black ski jacket that he hadn't bothered to zip. The waistband of the jacket fluttered loosely behind him making his thin gray T-shirt flatten against his powerful chest and tight stomach.
As I took in the sight of him, my pulse gave an irritating little jump. He was exactly the kind of guy I made a practice to avoid.And besides, wasn't he cold?
Cripes,Iwas cold, and my own coat was zipped all the way up to my neck.
Into my silence, he said, "Or hey, maybe a parachute."
Parachute?I gave a hard shake of my head. "Sorry, what?"
He ambled forward and stopped just out of arm's reach. "I'm just saying." He flicked his gaze to the stroller. "You trythat, and you're gonna send the baby flying."
His words finally registered, and I stiffened in horror. "I'm not gonna sendanythingflying."
He cocked an eyebrow. "You sure about that?"
"Of course I'm sure," I bristled. "I'mverycareful."
This made him chuckle. "It didn't look that way tome."
"Yeah, well…" I cleared my throat. "I was just testing it, that's all."
His glacial blue eyes filled with mischief. "Sure,Ibelieve you."
I didn't appreciate the mockery – or the fact that I was having a hard time looking away.Seriously, why wasn't he zipping his coat?
More to the point, why wasn'tIresponding to what he'd just said?
Giving myself a mental slap, I told him, "Well, youshouldbelieve me, because if Icouldn'tbalance it, I would've stopped right away."And I would've.For as long as I could remember, I'd been the ultra-responsible one – the one who never took stupid chances, especially when it came to the safety of those I cared about.
