“I’ll look, you call,” he says, stalking off towards the hood before I can respond.

I close the driver’s door a bit more to give myself a little privacy.  Scrolling through my contacts once more, I find Wyatt and press the phone symbol by his name.  He answers on the third ring.

“Hey Tatum,” he slurs into the receiver.  “Need a little fix tonight?”

Damnit, he’s been drinking.  “Sorry, not tonight.  Look, my car broke down,” I begin, not looking to make conversation while some stranger is tinkering around under my hood.  “Can you come take a look or get me a tow?  I’ll pay you…or something.”  Wyatt doesn’t do anything for free.  Knowing our history, he’ll probably call a favor the next time he wants to get laid, but that’s fine by me.  Like I said, we have a mutual understanding.

“Aw, shit babe.  I can’t tonight.  I’m out at Old Willow, and I’m fucking ham-mered! Hey!  Why don’t you come meet me here?  I’ll take you back to my place.”

This just keeps getting better.

“Wyatt, my car is broken down right outside town.  I can’t get to you because my Car. Is. Broken. Down.,” I enunciate for him.  “Are any of the other guys available?  Cole, maybe?”

“Cole’s with me.  Hey, Cole!  Say hi to Tatum!” he shouts into my ear.  This conversation is pointless; I’m getting nowhere.

“Hiiiiii, Tatum,” Cole slurs sounding equally drunk, if not more so, than Wyatt.

“Hi, Cole.  Put Wyatt back on, will you?”  My patience is rapidly shrinking, and I’m trying not to go nuclear on their drunk asses.  I take five deep breaths before the phone shuffles white noise in my ear, and Wyatt comes back on.  I don’t feel any better.

“So are you coming over?” he breathes.

“NO!  No,” I say more calmly.  I don’t want to freak out the stranger under my hood.  “My car is broken down.  Remember?”

“Oh yeah!  Sorry I forgot.”

I’m getting nowhere with this phone call.  “Right.  Well I’ll let you go and text you tomorrow so you can send someone with a tow, yeah?”   He won’t remember any of this tomorrow, but I know once he’s sobered up, he’ll help me out.

“Sure thing, sexy.”

I disconnect without saying goodbye.  He won’t even notice considering how tanked he sounded.  Grabbing my purse, I pull my keys from the ignition and lock the doors.  Guess I’ll be hoofing it back to my apartment.

I attempt to keep my face impassive as I round the front of my car.  In reality, anger and a bit of anxiety are barely controlled beneath the surface.  Damn Wyatt for being drunk, and damn me for not having more of a support system.

The stranger is still bent over my engine, his hands braced on either side as he inspect the interior.  The sight makes me want to laugh.  He wasn’t kidding when he said he knows nothing about cars.

My eyes roam over his body while he’s distracted with my engine.  He’s wearing a pair of faded, dark blue jeans that hint at more than a little bit of lean, muscular thighs.  His shirt is a black button up with the sleeves rolled to his elbows.  I hate to admit it, but he’s downright hot.  Add that to the fact he doesn’t seem like a creep, and I just might be in trouble.

I clear my throat so I don’t scare him, and he lifts his head in my direction.

“Thanks for stopping.  I called my friend so it’s okay for you to go.”

The stranger gazes at my face for a moment before his brows crease making three small indents between his eyes.  Maybe I wasn’t so skilled at schooling my emotions.  He checks the incoming direction of the road before glancing back behind him.  What is he thinking?

“Is your friend on his way?” he asks in a deep, smooth voice that resonates in my belly like an echo trapped in a cave.  His voice does strange things to my body.

“Umm, well, he’s going to try to send a tow,” I lie.  I watch curiously as his gaze searches my face again, and those three little creases deepen.

“He’ll try?  Did he tell you how long it’ll be?”  God, why does this guy care?  I’m trying to let him off the hook.  Do the right thing.  Not waste anyone’s time that doesn’t need to be wasted over me.

“No.  But I’m sure he’s coming.”

Mr. Good Samaritan straightens, thrusts his hands in the pockets of his jeans, and leans a hip against my motorized rust machine.  Although, it’s not so motorized at the moment.

“Then I’ll wait with you.”

“No!” I exclaim quickly.  Too quickly.  Shit.  “I mean, it’s okay.  I can wait by myself.  I don’t want to waste your time.”  He waves a hand through the air as if he’s erasing the words coming out of my mouth.

“It’s no problem.  I don’t have anything to do tonight anyway.  I was just on my way back into town.”

I sigh, defeated.  I don’t know how to convince him to go.  If I can’t convince him, I’m going to have to tell him I lied and make myself sound like an idiot.  Why can’t he just be an asshole instead of some chivalrous do-gooder?

I hitch my purse higher on my shoulder. “Look, it’s late, and I’m fine.  I appreciate you stopping to help, really.  But I don’t want to keep you—ˮ

“He’s not coming, is he?”

“What?”

“You’re friend.  There isn’t a tow, is there?  He didn’t pick up the phone, or he’s busy.”  He searches my face for evidence of my lie.  I’m guessing he found what he was looking for when he says, “Am I right?”

Heat licks at my cheeks as I mumble, whisper soft, “I was going to walk back.”

He laughs a quick rumble before he realizes I’m serious.  “You’re not joking?  Christ, it’s like ten miles to town.”

“I could use the exercise,” I fire back.

“Right.” His gaze lazily travels down my body before slowly climbing back up causing my blush to deepen.  “I highly doubt that.”

I don’t answer.  Embarrassment and pride are keeping my lips sealed tight.  Why am I acting like this?  I don’t care what this guy thinks of me.

“Come on then, I’m giving you a lift.”  He turns and crosses the empty highway.  I watch in silence until he reaches his car and opens the driver side door.

“Uh, thanks, but no thanks.  I’m not getting in your car.”  He pauses with his body halfway in, half out.

“Why not?”

“Let’s see,” I drawl, ticking each point off my fingers.  “I just met you, it’s dark, and late.  Oh, and I just met you!”

He arches an eyebrow at my tirade.  “Well, I’m not just going to leave you out here.  So I guess I’m walking too.”  He hits a button on his key fob, and the lights flash on his car.  I watch, stunned, as he slams the door and begins walking in the opposite direction of his car.  “You coming?”

He’s serious?  Who is this guy?  Resigned to being stuck with him either way, I much prefer to not walk back into town.

“Wait!  Fine.  You can give me a ride,” I call to his retreating form.

“Thank god.” He hits his key fob again.  “I wasn’t going to leave you to walk alone, but you’re saving me the pain of walking back to get my car.”  The stranger flashes me an easy grin, soft and playful and masculine.  I can’t remember ever being on the receiving end of such a smile.  It makes me uneasy, and my heart rate speeds up.

“I’m not doing it for you.”  Climbing into the passenger seat of his car, I slip on my seatbelt and scoot as close to the window as possible.  Once he starts the ignition, I add, “And if you touch me, I’ll kill you.”  He shakes his head and that rumbling laughter rolls from his mouth again.

“You carrying, Sweetheart?”

“Maybe.  Maybe not.  You’ll have to decide if you want to find out.”

“Are you always this ornery?” he asks, as we roll smoothly down the highway.

I don’t answer.  Honestly, yes.  My normal demeanor is typically set to bitch.  Growing up the way I had has left me a bit jaded.  Good people don’t exist in my world.  People don’t do nice things without expectations of payback.  I have a remarkable ability to always seek the worst in people, always wait for the other shoe to drop, wait for them to call their debts.  Mr. Good Samaritan is throwing me off balance with his kindness and good natured attitude.