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Eleven
Nick and I stand on the shoulder, staring down at the punctured, deflated tire. What’s that he said? Be prepared for anything? Then I hear Imani’s words in my mind like a haunting echo—See, this is already a disaster. I shrug the thought away and remind myself this isn’t a big deal. It’s not a sign or an omen or any of that. Flat tires happen. And like I said, nothing’s gonna get me down.
Nick, on the other hand, looks a little deflated himself. He kicks the tire and his young Gary Gulman hair falls across his face. “I can’t believe this. My brand-new Jeep!” I can hardly hear him over the cars whizzing by on the turnpike like a NASCAR track in the middle of a cup race.
“Talk about taking the air out of your tires,” I say, channeling Rodney Dangerfield in an attempt to lighten the mood.
Nick raises an eyebrow over the rim of his Wayfarers. “I don’t remember you being a corny one-liner comic.”
“No, I’m more of an observational storyteller. Like two comedians are stuck on the side of the road kinda girl.”
“And?”
“One says to the other...” I look him square in the face. “Watch out for sharp objects.”
“Ha. Ha,” he says as inexpressive as Ben Stein in Ferris Bueller’s Day Off.
I open my arms. “I’m here all week.”
“This is why we have to leave early,” he says, and I almost wonder if that conversation jinxed us.
“Duly noted. But this isn’t a huge delay. You must get flat tires all the time on the road.”
“Actually, I don’t.”
“Really? Then what was all that talk about be prepared for anything?” I ask as he lifts his phone to his ear. “Who are you calling, the tire fairy?”
“Roadside assistance.”
“What do you need them for? You have a perfectly good spare right here.” I gesture to the giant rubber donut hanging on the back of the Jeep. Nick lowers his eyes, pretending not to hear me. Wait a second. Oh... I see what’s going on here. I step closer. “You don’t know how to change a tire, do you?” I say low in his free ear like I’m trying to simultaneously tease and seduce him. I’m not sure which desire is stronger. Not to judge but how can anyone driving up and down the country on a regular basis, like the headlining Nick Leto, not master this very basic skill?
“Hang on a second.” He glances back at me with a hint of shame in his eyes before he begins calling out his insurance number in that stilted, annoyed way we address automated systems. “Zero. Zero. Four. Seven.”
I step in front of him so he has to face me (and this situation). “Your keys, please.”
“What? Why?”
“Because, the tire fairy’s here.”
He lowers the phone. “You’re gonna change the tire?” And there he goes, throwing judgment right back at me. Like I haven’t heard it before. You’re going to law school? You’re moving to New York? You’re a comedian? I always feel like saying, Yeah, I’m an intelligent, funny, self-sufficient woman and you’re an ignorant prick. Sometimes, I actually have the balls to say it. But given the circumstances, I let Nick off the hook.
Well, mostly.
“No, you’re gonna change it,” I say. “And I’m gonna show you how.”
He doesn’t look convinced, though who knows if he’s now questioning my ability or his. But he complies with a click of the button on his keyless entry. I smirk. It’s nice to be in a position of power for once. We make our way to the Jeep and begin removing our suitcases. He grunts, pulling out my luggage. “Seriously, what’s in here?”
“I didn’t know what to pack so I brought everything. You could say I’m prepared for anything.”
This can’t be Nick’s dream scenario by any stretch but his lip curls up just enough for me to know that he’s glad I’m here. “Here’s the rest of your luggage,” he says, handing over my trash bag. I take it and drag my suitcase safely inside the shoulder lane.
Nick grabs the jack and cross wrench from the tool compartment (at least he knows where that is) and looks at them the way a caveman would. “Now what?”
I place my hand on his shoulder and gently say, “Now you become a man.” He frowns helplessly and I can’t help but snicker at his expense. “Okay, okay. Go make sure the emergency brake’s on. That’s the one in the—”
“I know what it is.” Nick hands me the tools and goes around to climb in the front seat. When he returns, he’s lost the leather jacket (not that it has any place in this June heat). His sleeves are wrapped tightly around his bulging biceps. I didn’t know those were hiding under that leather. What else is he hiding beneath his clothes?
Nick stands in front of me with his hands on his hips and the sun reflecting off his dark shades. “You sure about this?”
