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"Hey, baby, it's me," I say tensely. "Nothing to worry about. But... someone hit my car. A hit and run. I didn't even get his plate number. I'm going to call the insurance and take it to the shop tomorrow if you’re okay it. I didn't involve the police either. I... I knew you wouldn't like that. Again, nothing to worry about. Please don't stress over it. I'll make sure everything's still perfect for tonight. I love you."
The recording cuts me off at the minute mark, ending the call on its own.
I release the breath I've been holding in, cursing my luck again, before I go to turn the key. The engine gives a pitiful whine that lasts a few seconds and then dies out completely.
"No," I whisper. "No effing way! NO!"
There's no way my engine would die like this. Not right now. Not when I'm already behind on what's such an important night for Donny…
Thirty-one minutes...
I should've known an old beater like this was on its last leg. I'd have fixed it myself if I weren't forbidden from doing so. The least that could've been allowed was taking it to a shop.
But that suggestion, too, was frowned upon. Mechanics are too friendly and friendly leads to trouble...
Despite my lack of tools, I pop the hood and go take a look. There was a time in the past where I used to keep a secret stash of tools in a make up pouch tucked away in the bottom compartment of my driver's side door. Those proved to be trouble too when they were found out.
A wary sigh leaves me eying my dead car engine. I'm not even sure it's salvageable, which would mean my only sense of freedom, my wheels, will be gone. For who knows how long, I'm not sure.
But the thought of going an indeterminate amount of time without my own mode of transportation makes my heart shrivel up.
Twenty-seven damn minutes…
There's no way I'll finish in time. No way I'll make it home and get started on dinner in time with the set schedule.
Panic infects me, so that I feel breathless and clammy. I half consider flagging down one of the many cars zipping by just to see if they'll help me. Even just provide the tools. I can do the rest myself.
Really, I'd like to hitchhike the hell out of here. Get as far away as possible from our new home in Pulsboro. I would if I didn't have Mama to think about.
"What the hell am I going to do?" I groan out loud, staring around at the dreary November landscape.
The thunder of an engine answers me. I look up from my own dead car engine and my heart leaps in my chest at what I see barreling toward me.
Going way too fast for a highway on-ramp, clutching the buckhorn handlebars of his Harley Davidson FXDB Street Bob, his golden brown hair rippling in the wind, is no other than Blake Cash.
Otherwise known not just as my first love but my ex-best friend.
CHAPTER 2 - BLAKE
Awhistle leaves my lips walking into the Steel Saloon. “Mason Cutler, I never thought I’d see the day.”
My best friend's seated at the bar counter grinning wide with his hand on the thigh of his old lady. The sight's still surprising even after a few months of their whirlwind romance.
Once upon a time, Mace swore he'd never settle down let alone be a one-woman-kind-of-guy.
That changed the day he met Sydney Singer.
The two couldn't stand each other at first, butting heads at every turn, but after false betrayals were cleared up and the real bad guys were held accountable, they'd been smitten with each other ever since.
So much so Sydney's head old lady and Mason's in better spirits than he's ever been.
Not something I say lightly—the two of us have known each other since we rode around in training wheels. He’s never been happier than he is with Sydney.
He tears his attention away from her and looks over at me, his dark green eyes glinting. "Well, if it ain't Cash. My best friend who has every woman in town begging to have his babies.”
My face warms as the couple laughs. I play it off with a shake of my shoulder-length golden hair and a modest smile. "Not every women. Just most."
"Do you hear this cocky mother ‘effer?" Mace asks his girl.
