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“I’ll be there.”
“Good girl.” He paused for a beat. “I’ll see you later, Nevada.”
“Okay!”
The line ended just as the car jerked, and I suspected the tire had blown.
“What was that?” Rockson shouted.
I groaned dramatically. “A flat tire.”
“Call Vegas to fix it.”
“I can fix it, buddy.” Not that I wanted to. It would be so easy to call Vegas and ask for his help. He wouldn’t refuse and would come running because he liked me…a lot.“I’m an independent woman.”
“What does inde-pend-ent mean?” He broke up the big word into sections. My gosh, he was adorable.
“It means I don’t need anyone’s help and can take care of you and me by myself.”
“You can change the tire?” His eyebrows shot upward, and his eyes went wide. “Vegas says girls don’t know how to repair broken tires.”
“Does he now? Well, I’ll prove him wrong.” I opened the door and popped the trunk.
“Can I get out to watch you?”
I looked around. We were out on a dirt road where not many cars came down. “Sure, but stay near the ditch, okay?”
“I promise!”
“You are so stinkin’ cute, buddy.” I got him out of his seat and went to work.
Removing a tire was more difficult than I’d thought. My palms burned from twisting the metal thingy to remove the nuts. The bolts were on so tightly, I could only get three out of the five off. The stupid YouTube video had made it look way easier than it was.
A rumble of motorcycles came from behind me. I bet it was Vegas and Tomcat. I’d get roasted for being an incapable, weak woman. They could be misogynistic jackasses if the mood struck them in the nads.
As I heard them stop, I rose from the dirt road and turned with my hands spread out to my sides, like saying I had tried.
“Everything all right?” a man asked, who was not Vegas or Tomcat.
“Mommy has a flat tire,” Rockson said so helpfully.
“Well,Mommy, would you like us to help you out?” The buffed dude slowly got off his bike. He was bearded, tatted, and wore a red bandana on his head and aviator glasses. He looked like a biker but wasn’t wearing a cut. The other guy was almost a carbon copy, sans the bandana.
“She doesn’t need help. She’s an inde-pund-ent woman,” Rockson said, fumbling.
The men laughed. I was sure they weren’t from around here.
“Okay. We’ll leave you to it.” The red bandana guy returned to his bike. The other started his Harley.
“Wait!” I waved at them to stop. “I would love some help. I could only get three nuts off.”
They snorted and grinned at each other.
“What’s so funny?” I pushed my hip out and crossed my arms over my chest.
“You’re more than halfway there. We only have two sets of nuts.” No Bandana scratched his black beard with a shit-eating grin.
“You know what? Never mind. I’ll call my boyfriend.” I took my phone out of my pocket.
