Page 5 of Single Girl in the City
Pain shot through her right leg, which had scraped against the bike’s chain. Cold wetness seeped through her leggings and spilled into the shoes she’d rented from Costume Palooza and Pawn Shop. Her pride took a nosedive and the balloons bobbed above her like a buoy in the middle of the ocean.
“Shit,” she said, experiencing her second collision in as many months. She looked up at the clouds and glared at whoever was beyond. “Shit, shit, shit!” If she hadn’t been raised right, she would have said another four-letter word, but her grandma would come down from the heavens and stick a bar of soap in Abi’s mouth. She did, however, smack her hands in the puddle like her niece in the middle of a tantrum. “How’s that for calm and tranquil?”
When no one answered, she tried to roll over and groaned. Nothing was broken, but she was definitely bruised. She pushed herself to her knees and started to stand when a hand with a sexy tattoo running up the forearm gently wrapped around her elbow. An unexpectedsnapandcracklepopped between them. She shrugged him off. “I’m fine.”
“Give yourself a minute to make sure you’re okay,” her shadow said. “Where does it hurt?”
Everywhere. “Just a little rattled is all.” He offered her his hand again and stubbornly she didn’t want to take it, but she was too afraid she wouldn’t be able to stand back up on her own. Common sense won out.
His big, masculine hand ran down her arm to take her hand. He was just trying to help her up, but at the simple contact, the air sparked. He looked at her for a long, heated moment, then his face went carefully blank.
“It looked like you went down pretty hard.”
“I’m fine,” she said again, this time with a bright smile. Her heart was racing, her head spinning, her hands tingling—and it had nothing to do with the fall. When he didn’t believe her or move to release her hand, she assured him, “Really, I’m fine. But thank you for asking.”
“The cast on your wrist suggests otherwise.”
“It’s a brace, not a cast.” She unvelcroed and velcroed it as proof.
“Disappointing. I was going to ask if I could sign it. Write, ‘You should see the other guy’ or ‘Stay cool, Tea Girl.’ Or maybe leave my number.”
She ignored this and began to right her bike when she noticed it. Her purse had toppled over, scattering the contents in every which direction— her notebook in the middle, displayed for the world to see. Even worse it was open tohispage.
Not that it saidOwen, Abi was too visual for that. But it had enough doodles and sketches, not to mention a swirly O and a drawing of his family’s bar to paint a clear picture.
She bent down to grab it, but he was faster. In the end, they each held the notebook like a game of tug o’ war, and she was on the losing end.
“You must be a fan of Stout. Funny, I’ve never seen you in there.”
And with good reason. “I’m not really a bar kind of person.”
“Then we have that in common.”
She blinked. “But you own a bar.”
“My family owns the bar, I only run it. Big difference.”
Another mysterious clue to be filed away in her ever-growing O folder. “If you say so.”
“I say so,” he said, not letting go. “Seriously though, I just want to help.”
She still held tight, studying him to access his current level of curiosity. “No questions or cute comments?”
“Not a one. Scout’s honor.” He held up a little two-finger salute and she let go. She even let him load up her bags and hold her bike.
She brushed her hands down her pants and then gave up. There was no point. She was soaked straight through to her bozo-bloomers.
Thanks.” She mounted her bike, and a dull pain covered her entire backside. She came to a hard stop and maybe even winced a bit.
“Now, how about that ride?”
She looked at the busy street and then back to Owen. She’d finally found that kaleidoscope of monarchs she’d been searching for. Annoyingly, they were in her belly. And if that wasn’t sign enough that this moment was Jenny-ordained, the sky opened and big droplets of rain hit her like ticks on a hound dog.
“Fine.” She held up a halting finger. “But if it says twenty-five remember that’s the limit, so we go twenty-five.” Because limits were meant to keep people safe.
“It’s actually safer to go with the flow of traffic.”
“Isn’t that a fun fact? Twenty-five or no deal.”
