Page 2 of Prove You Wrong

‘I don’t need to, I can fix her myself.’ I’m not in a position to pay the roadside assistance excess call out charge, but he doesn’t need to know that.

‘Fix this?’ The beam settles on Helena’s tarnished chassis. ‘Wouldn’t it be kinder to put Old Rusty here out of her misery?’ He whispers the last bit as if euthanising my car was a possibility.

‘She’s a classic.’ Matching his volume I add, ‘And don’t let her hear you talk like that.’ My gaze flicks to Helena and then back to the man. ‘If you don’t mind me fixing her quickly, I’ll be out of your hair soon.’

Now my retinas aren’t being scorched by his torch, I take in the six-foot tower of a man whose tee-shirt is plastered to his torso in the tsunami-like rain, the fabric clinging to his hard planes. If I wasn’t trying to fix my car in a hurricane in the middle of the night, I’d pay a little more attention.

‘And you didn’t think to, I don’t know, knock and ask, huh?’ His voice is playful as he manoeuvres himself past me and easily lifts the heater, moving it clear across the ground, placing it carefully over to one side.

‘Thanks. I didn’t realise anyone would be here. There’s no cars, barely a security light.’ I indicate towards the dim glow at the front of the pub.

‘Bulb must have gone.’ He runs a hand over his buzz cut, spraying water droplets into the night, and flashes a smile. ‘And, you’re welcome.’

He grabs the other table that needs to be moved and I rush to help with the opposite side. His eyebrows quirk as if surprised and I use my frustration at being underestimated to power my strength.

Now we’ve cleared a car-sized space under the gazebo, I dash to Helena and drive her over. Popping the bonnet in the relatively dry shelter, I take a moment to prop it open securely and reacquaint myself with the layout. The engine needs to cool before I get stuck in anyway.

‘You want me to — ’

I cut his question short. ‘It’s just fixing the headlight.’

He holds up his palms in defence. ‘Okay, but I’m good with my hands. Maybe I could help.’

I glance at his huge hands splaying out, unable to stop myself scanning along his ripped arms.

Ideas of some other things he can do with his hands spring to mind. He must be able to read my indecent thoughts, or he’s noticed me ogling him, as there’s a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

What am I doing? I need to fix my car and get the hell home. But my interest has been piqued. I never usually allow myself the pleasure of flirting, but heaven knows tonight needs a silver lining.

‘Maybe those hands of yours could hold the torch?’

Surprised by my own bolshiness, I add a cheeky grin. I don’t even know this guy’s name and I’m bossing him about after trespassing on his property. But he doesn’t seem to mind too much as he cocks his head to the side with a smirk, as if to ask me for the magic word.

I pause, lifting an eyebrow. Fooling around with him could be a lot of fun if I wasn’t dead on my feet, soaked through and desperate to get home safely. ‘Please.’

‘It’d be my pleasure. These hands can be quite … obliging, sometimes.’

A lock of my hair clings to my face, almost blackened with rainwater, and I swipe it out of the way. Was he flirting back? My tired brain can’t function with the lack of sleep, late driving, broken car and now, the random attractive guy.

Deep breath.

I try to zone everything else out and focus on the most important task at hand. ‘Actually, I need to check the fuse box first. It’d make things a lot easier if it were just a fuse.’

He nods and I find talking through my plan with this stranger surprisingly reassuring. Somehow, I focus my thoughts and recall the car maintenance research I’d done in preparation for this kind of disaster. The fuse for headlamps is in the engine compartment. Of course it wouldn’t be the one inside the car.

Listening as I talk through my options, he shifts the torch beam for me, anticipating my next moves seamlessly as I work.

‘It’s not the fuse,’ I sigh as the replacement doesn’t fix the problem.

‘Do you want to come inside to warm up, or…’ He stops himself from saying something and finishes with, ‘or call for help?’

Rubbing my forehead, I decline. I’m shattered. ‘No thanks, it’s definitely the bulb. It won’t take long now. I’m set on doing this myself.’

‘I’d noticed.’ His voice is playful, sexy even.

The low light shows chilled goosebumps setting the hairs of his arms on end, but he holds the torch steady with no complaint. If I wasn’t quite so preoccupied with fixing Helena, then I’d enjoy gawking at his forearms, which glisten in the rain. On one side, tattoos reach out from under his sleeve, black ink wrapping around the muscles like a cobra ensnaring its prey.

In truth, I’d love to drop everything and crawl into the warm, dry pub. Into a pair of strong arms like his. Have someone else fix the light. Have someone else worry about getting home to my sister. But this is all on me. It has always been on me. So I need to focus. I need to sort it out.

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