Page 110 of Four Dates and A Forever
“Since we’re both going the same way, you’d save me the worry of wondering if you made it to your final destination in one piece.”
“I wouldn’t want toworryyou.” Although secretly she loved the idea that she got to him. “You could be a serial killer.”
“You’re the one dressed like the guy fromIt.”
Abi pulled a business card from her back pocket and handed it over. He read it and laughed out loud, throwing his head back and everything.Such a handsome prick.“CEO of Wishes by Abi.” She pointed to the subtitle “Professional Good Samaritan.”
“Yes, and right now I go by Winkie the Uni-Clown. Part unicorn, part clown. I do parties, weddings, and singing telegrams.”
“You sing?”
“Today I do,” she said, back to cycling slowly across the lot. Her big shoes were only partly to blame. Until last week, Abi hadn’t been on a bike since she was twelve. But it was faster than walking and less deadly than other forms of transportation. “Move before I call the cops and tell them a strange man wanted to pinch my nose.”
“So, you’re still going with the not knowing each other game, Tea Girl?”
She came to a hard stop. “Fine. Darjeeling oolong, loose-leaf tea, six ounces of water, 180 degrees, with a splash of soy. We may have crossed paths professionally.” He lifted a brow. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“I don’t know. The condoms, memorizing my order.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his feet, clearly validated. “Is that barista for, ‘What’s your number?’”
“It’s barista for, ‘Your drink is lame.’ If you ask me, the splash of soy is an amateur move.”
As she attempted to leave, he reached for her handlebar, holding her in place. Or maybe it was his intense blue eyes that made her feet feel like she was pedaling through wet cement.
“Since we’ve ruled out serial killer and you know who I am, please let me give you a ride,” he said. “I can put your bike in the back of my truck and drop you off anywhere.”
“Anywhere?” she asked.
“Think of me as your own personal rideshare driver.” She steadied her bike and he backed away slightly, but she could tell he didn’t like it. “Come on, Abi, there’s no sidewalk and this is a highway.”
She was more than aware of that. Her heart had started thumping painfully in her chest the moment she locked eyes on the heavy traffic and endless line of headlights glowing in the mist. “Really, I’m—”
A bus blew past, the draft knocking her back a step. The smell of the exhaust and the sound of the gears downshifting took her breath away, until her lungs began to burn and her eyes began to water.
Shaken by the memory of the collision, she lost balance and went down to one knee, letting go of her bike in the process. It crashed against the ground, toppling the bottles of bubbly, the glass shattering on impact. The sound brought Abi right back to that day on the bus. Back to the nightmares she’d spent the past few months trying to get out of her head.
She gasped for air. Once, twice, but her lungs weren’t cooperating. Neither was her head. She reminded herself that she was safe, that she was on steady ground, and that if she didn’t get herself under control she would embarrass herself in front of the sexiest man alive. That was enough to break through the fear.
Too bad it was too late. She’d already lost her footing and she landed ass-backward in a puddle with teeth-jarring force.
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.
