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“You do not drive this.”
“Hmm. That’s odd. Because all my recollections lead me to believe the exact opposite. In fact, Idodrive this.” I give the roof of my junker a friendly pat, hoping that my hand doesn’t come away with too much of the rusted paint that’s been flaking off the car for years.
Cole stares, face in slack disbelief, as if I’ve told him a geriatric alligator is my mode of transportation.
I shouldn’t have let him walk me to my car.
“Does it turn on?”
“Of course it does! How do you think I drive it? The Flintstone method? You think I have some holes in the floor and just foot-pedal it around town?”
“Honestly—”
“No. No more sass. It works. Most of the time. And it has remained mostly mobile for the last eight years. That’s all I ask of it.”
“What about safety?”
“There are seatbelts.” One of them even buckles properly.
“Your bumper—”
“Is there!”
“Barely.”
“Barely is enough for me. Look, Cole. I’m not sure what your idea of a librarian’s salary is, but after rent and food and student loans, plus all the other expenses that pop up randomly, I’m lucky if I can tuck a little away in my savings. I don’t have thousands to spend on fixing up this car or to buy myself something newer. Maybe one day. But not anytime soon. It’s this or the bus, and this gives me more control over my schedule and my life.”
Please don’t die on me, I silently throw out to my mess of a vehicle, knowing I’m constantly tempting fate when I tell people it drives.
I glare at Cole, ready to mount another defense, only to realize he doesn’t look amused or exasperated. That’s how people normally look when they see my car.
There goes quirky Summer in her beat-up Volkswagen. Isn’t she a hoot and a half? Bet she loves driving that wreck around town. She wants her car to have personality!
False. I would take the most boring car on earth if it ran smoothly and got decent gas millage.
But Cole isn’t looking at my car like I made a choice to go the wacky route. He stares at the Frankenstein monster of auto parts and appears legitimately angry.
But angry about what?
“I have a friend. He manages an auto shop. He won’t work for free, but he won’t screw you over either.” Cole’s tongue fiddles with his lip piercing, and I’m distracted for a moment.
Shaking my head, I think over what he just said.
“There are so many things wrong, sometimes I think denial is the best move forward,” I admit.
“Summer.” Cole growls my name and shoots a scowl at me. “Driving this is dangerous. Let me set something up. I swear he won’t push you to fix more than you have to.”
Gah. I hate going to mechanics. They always discover more problems than I had when I arrived. Probably because I don’t know all the ways a car can combust. Plus, I don’t understand any of their magical auto mumbo jumbo, and I can’t afford it either.
But Cole is offering me help, and I’d be a grinch to turn him down.
“Alright. Okay. But you need to warn him that I’m going to be an abrasive, distrustful customer who constantly questions his motives.”
“That’s hard to believe.”
“Doubt all you want, but discussing the many shortcomings of my car is not the way to get on my good side.”
His eyebrows spike up at this. “Am I on your bad side?”
