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“I have an idea.” He turns the key and this time it doesn’t even bother to start, going into some strange trembling instead for just a few seconds.
“Is it dying?” I can barely utter the question. It’s one of my most prized possessions, the one thing I coveted since childhood.
“Sounds like it’s just out of gas.”
My face burns as he says it, remembering that Reese told me several times she thought the gage was malfunctioning. She insisted I take it in, but I put it off, going as far as lying that I’d done it when she kept nagging.
“Well, shit. I guess I should call a tow.”
“Come on.” He helps me out of the car. “I have a gas can in the back of my Jeep. We’ll grab some gas.”
His car is immaculate, just as I thought it would be. Actually, it feels like a sin getting into it as sweaty as I am. “We’re gonna stink up your car.”
“Nah, you should see what it looks like after a Jeep ride through the mud. A little sweat’s not going to hurt it.” Dean smiles at me as he hops into the Jeep.
“I’m starving,” I complain, imagining the bun-less burger and sweet potato waiting for me at home. Thinking I’d be driving straight there, I didn’t come prepared. Stupid woman.
From out of thin air he produces a protein bar. “Before you get hangry.” He winks at me and gives me a crooked grin.
“Thanks,” I say, opening the snack and taking a big bite.
“I like you sitting here beside me.” He reaches over and takes my hand. I roll my eyes at him, but don’t pull away. It feels kind of nice, this simple skin contact that I usually underestimate.
We look very much the couple on our five-minute drive to the nearest gas station. He jumps out and fills a five-gallon tank, and in no time, we’re back, and I already miss holding his hand. But I have to let go.
Pointing him to the gas cap at the back, he fills it up for me as I lean on the car and watch. Sweat rolls down his temples and over a slight growth of beard on his face. His strong jaw works as he concentrates on his task, and the muscles of his forearms flex in a very masculine way.
It’s not hard to see that he’s no child. But he’s still ten years younger than me, even if ten years younger than me is almost thirty.
“Ready to try again?” he asks, interrupting my open perusal.
“Yup.” I hop in and start the engine. This time, it stays on. “Thank you, Coop,” I say looking out the window. I want to kiss him, want to touch him in some way.
He leans in, resting his forearms on the door. “Go straight to the gas station and fill it up. I’ll follow you to make sure you don’t stall on the way.”
“You don’t have to. I’ll be okay.”
He shrugs. “I want to. I like taking care of you.”
Taking. Care. Of. You.
The words are like ice water, snapping me out of my delirious state. After that kiss and the workout, I’d somehow let myself seem vulnerable.
“I can take care of myself, Coop.” I start rolling my window up, but it’s hard to do with a big body hanging through it.
“Whoa there, kitty cat. What happened?”
“What happened is that I gotta go,” I hiss.
“Did I do something to piss you off?”
Letting out a hard breath, I say, “Of course not. I’m good now. See you tomorrow.”
“Seriously? I just helped you out…”
“I would have been fine without you,” I interrupt, almost screaming the words out of frustration.
“Yeah, I’m sure you would have.” He pulls out of the window when I sit back and huff. “It’s okay to accept help.”
I can’t look him in the eye now. “Thanks. See you tomorrow.”
Full of regret that I refuse to admit, I drive away, watching him through the rearview mirror.
