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“I’m not pressing the gas!”
“You’re clearly pressing the gas!”
Now she let go of the steering wheel entirely and reared back like the car was alive and magically the engine revving on its own instead of because of her foot. “Help me! Help me, oh my God, I’m going to die.”
Holy shit. Sullivan ran over, leaned in the open window, threw the car in park and pulled the keys out of the ignition. The gears made a grinding sound and the car's tires continued to spin, but at a much reduced speed.
His actions seemed to jolt her out of her panic and she finally took her foot off the gas. “What do I do now?”
“Turn the wheel to the left. I’m going to push the car back off the curb.” He went around to the front of the vehicle.
She turned the wheel right.
“Your other left,” he said.
She glared at him. “Stop yelling at me.”
He definitely was not yelling at her. “It’s okay,” he said slowly, as if he were speaking to a spooked animal. “Just take a deep breath and turn the wheel to the left. Everything is going to be fine.”
“Stop being so condescending.”
He couldn’t win with this woman. “Do you want to trade spots? You push, I steer?”
Her expression told him exactly how she felt about that. She turned the wheel to the left.
He gave the car a shove. It fell down off the curb with a thump.
Given its size and heft, it didn’t continue to roll but bounced once and settled into the spot. The parking meter looked like a palm tree after a hurricane, leaning but intact.
Sullivan leaned in the passenger window and handed her the keys. “Here you go.”
“I just haven’t driven in a while,” she said as she took them, studiously avoiding allowing their fingers to touch. “I know what I’m doing, I’m just out of practice.”
Where had she been living that she hadn’t driven? Nowhere around these parts, that was for sure.
“But thank you,” she added. “I appreciate the help.”
It looked like that had nearly cost her her soul to admit.
“What’s your name?” he asked the gorgeous and cranky mystery woman. He eyed her with a smile, amused by her surliness.
“No,” she said, tossing her hair back over her shoulder.
“Your name is no?”
“No. I mean no, we’re not doing this.” She waved her hands back and forth between them. “I’ve heard what you’re all about, Sullivan O’Toole, and I want no part of you trying to make me your flavor of the week.”
Well, that was just insulting. He did not treat women like the flavor of the week.
And more importantly, how the hell did she know who he was?
“I’m not trying to do anything. I just asked your name. It’s a common question when you meet a stranger.”
She snorted.
Sullivan was going to pursue the conversation further when he glanced over and saw Lilly was leaving his father’s building, looking disheveled and bright-eyed. His father was right behind her, not wearing a shirt. Just jeans that weren’t even zipped up all the way.
And then they were kissing in the doorway.
