Page 35 of Spotlight
He steps closer and speaks through the glass. “Won’t start?”
I roll down the window. “Guess not.”
“Pop the hood. I’ll take a look.”
“It’s fine. You’ve done enough. I can get a?—”
“Pop the damn hood, Olivia.” His bossy tone does something to me that I’d rather not examine in this moment, so I do as he says and then get out and walk around the front of the SUV.
Flynn’s got the hood propped up and is using his phone’s flashlight to peer underneath.
“Do you know what you’re doing or is this another play from your gentlemanly playbook?”
He cracks a smile and tosses a wink back at me. “Why can’t it be both?”
He goes back to looking at my car’s engine and I stand there awkwardly.
“Can I do anything?”
“Here.” He holds his phone out to me.
Stepping up beside him, I aim the light approximately where he had it. His attention is on the car, so I take the moment to study him.
Impressive back muscles ripple as he leans forward. When he reaches out to mess with some knobs or wires or…whatever they are, his bicep flexes. He has this pensive look on his face, and he pushes the tip of his tongue between his teeth.
His reddish-brown hair is covered by a blue Mustangs hat. He has one of those straight Nordic noses and a jawline that looks like he’s perpetually clenching.
That tattoo on the inside of his right forearm is the only ink in sight. Five black circles in a horizontal line. The last circle is filled in, but the others are empty. I saw a picture of when they got the tattoos on Brogan’s social media page while I did my deep dive of all things Flynn Holland (Flynn’s page was far less active). Five circles for five brothers and the solid dot represents where they fall in birth order.
As he pulls back, his arm brushes against mine. His skin is warm and a waft of his cologne or deodorant hits me.
“Do you have jumper cables in the car?”
“Umm…”
He flashes me another grin. “Your battery looks pretty new, but we could try to jump it if someone has cables.”
“I replaced the battery a couple months ago.”
“Probably your alternator then,” he says. He takes the phone from me and moves it closer to the problem. “This wire is a little worn.”
I glance to where the light shines. “I’ll be honest, I’m not sure what I’m looking at.”
I know it’s such a cliché girl response, but I’ve always had my grandfather around to ask about car stuff. And he’d smile and take my keys, and then voila, my vehicle would be good to go. Everything I know about cars, I know from him. Which is probably less than he’d like.
“This is the alternator.” He touches it with his free hand. “It charges the battery and powers the electronics in the vehicle.”
I nod along.
As if he can tell I’m not really getting it, he adds, “Easy fix. If I had tools and parts, I could do it for you.”
“Of course, you could.” Oops. I did not mean to say that out loud. I so don’t feel like dealing with the hassle of calling a tow truck tonight. “Thank you. I’ll get a ride home and call someone in the morning.”
Grinning, he shuts the hood and then asks, “Can you leave it here overnight?”
“Yes.”
He nods and holds up his phone. “Want to share a ride?”
