His jaw works side to side. Wordlessly, he pulls out a pen and small notepad from his Carhartt vest and begins scribbling on one of the sheets. He tears it off and hands it to me. “That’s my name and number.”
I look down and see that his name is Ethan, just like he said into the radio, and the number looks legitimate, but it’s not as if I can confirm it at this very moment. He’s conveniently left off his last name, which is suspicious. And it’s not the insurance information I asked for, but something tells me this is the most I’ll get out of him.
“I’d rather not be contacted,” he continues. “If there’s any damage to your vehicle, which by the looks of it, there isn’t, who knows what you’ll be charged at the overpriced city shop you’ll no doubt take it to.”
I scoff. The audacity of this guy. “What makes you think I’d take it to some crappy city shop?”
His eyes drag over me again, slowly, deliberately. “Wild guess.”
What’s that supposed to mean?
Without another word, he turns and stalks back to his truck.
“Hey,” I yell.
He turns excruciatingly slow, his eyebrows raised.
“Little help here.” I lift my arms in frustration.
He walks back to me, his hands shoved in his pockets. “What now?”
“I’m kind of stuck.”
He looks between me and the car. “What’s the issue?”
“I can’t get out.” I wave my hands from my car, up to the shoulder of the road to demonstrate. “I can’t get up the slopey part.”
The corner of his mouth ticks upward, almost forming a quarter of a smile. Almost. He’s amused at my expense, yet someI can fix himpart of me wants nothing more than to draw a genuine smile from his lips. Obviously, I need therapy.
“It’s called a drainage ditch.” He says it like I’m supposed to know what the heck that means.
He looks at my car again and then back to the road. “Crank your wheel all the way to the left and drive along that dirt pathway. Eventually, the grade will even out and you can pull back onto the main road. If that doesn’t work, call a tow company. Impractical German cars don’t do well in this desert sand.” This time he does smile, pleased with his dig at my girly vehicle.
I roll my eyes.Dick.
“Is that all?” He’s back to being irritated.
I flash him my fakest smile. “Yes, sir.”
His eyes widen, exasperation flickering in those hazel irises, and a sense of triumph fills me.
“Word of advice, stick to downtown,” he says, his voice low and condescending. “Tourists have no business driving on these back roads. Go on your little wine tour and then go back to where you came from.”
My mouth drops open. I’m completely stunned by his obvious contempt for me. Not to mention his completely inaccurate assumptions.
With a curt nod, he hops back in his truck and drives away without a second glance.
Annoyingly, his directions work perfectly, and I’m quickly back on the road. When I finally get back to Main Street, my dad returns my call.
CHAPTER 4
Ethan
THE SECOND CHOICE
Fifteen pairs of eyes stare at me like I’m the world’s biggest idiot.
“Meeting’s over. You guys are dismissed,” I repeat. Did they not fucking hear me the first time?
