Page 3 of Rush Turner
She snorted. “Kidneys don’t go on Craigslist. They go on the dark web.”
I glanced at her, one eyebrow lifted. “How do you know that?”
She glared at the dashboard. “I read a lot.”
She was adorable. Absolutely, royally, pain-in-my-ass adorable.
Twenty MinutesLater
We pulled into a rundown garage on the edge of town — mine. She stiffened when I killed the engine and hopped out first.
“Stay here,” I said, opening her door a moment later. She was already halfway across the seat to the other side.
“Oh no, you don’t—” I caught her ankle mid-escape. She squeaked, twisted, and bonked her head on the ceiling.
“Ow!” she hissed.
“Serves you right.” I tugged her gently until she slid out into my arms, still swearing under her breath.
For a heartbeat, she was pressed against me, all warm curves and indignant huffs. Her eyes flicked up, wide and suspicious — but her fingers curled into my shirt before she caught herself.
I set her down. Slowly. Maybe a second slower than necessary.
“Your car stays here tonight,” I said, ignoring the part of me that wanted to kiss her just to see if she’d bite. “I’ll get you a ride home.”
She crossed her arms. “You’re not my type, you know.”
I leaned in, dropping my voice to the dangerous place that made grown men shut up and listen. “Sunshine, you don’t even know your type yet.”
Her mouth parted. Then she snapped it shut and stomped after me into the garage.
3
Jessa
Isat on the edge of a dusty workbench while Rush tinkered with my car’s corpse. The garage smelled like oil, warm metal, and that man’s cologne — unfair, really, for a stranger to smell so good while I was sweaty, dusty, and dressed like I’d lost a fight with a thrift store.
I glanced around and saw more classic cars. So he worked on classic cars. I hope he didn’t think he was going to steal Ethel.
Every so often, he’d glance over his shoulder. Not because he wanted to check on me, but because he didn’t trust me not to bolt. Fair enough.
I dug out my phone for the thousandth time. One bar signal. Perfect. I pulled up my rideshare app.
NO CARS AVAILABLE IN YOUR AREA.
I tried again. And again.
Rush didn’t even look up. “It’s a small town. No Ubers. You can stop wasting your battery.”
I glared at his broad back. “You don’t know that. Maybe a brave college student wants to make a quick fifty bucks.”
He chuckled, deep and low, which made something traitorous in my chest flutter. “Doubt it. Next bright idea?”
I hopped off the bench. “Walking.”
“Walking.”
“Yes, Rush. It’s a thing people do with feet.”
