Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 76656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
“What the hell,” I mumble to myself.
Squinting to see if anyone’s in the vehicle, I grab my jacket and swing open the door.
A white BMW is parked in my yard. Parked is a generous word. Crashed is more like it. The hood is bent from taking out my mailbox which is on its side beneath my bedroom window.
I knock on the driver’s window. “Yo! What have you done? You’re in my yard! Are you alive?” I frown when the hunched body resting against the deployed airbag doesn’t move. “Are you okay? Need me to call an ambulance?” I ease open her door.
A woman lifts her head with long dark hair stuck to her face. She blinks several times. “Where am I?”
“You’re in my front yard. It’s a … no parking zone. I’m calling for help.”
“No! No. No. Please no.” She pounds her fists into the deployed airbag and searches for the seat belt. “No police. No reporters. No one.” Her fingers peel the hair away from her face before she squeezes her body out of the car like the first stick of gum in a pack.
“You’ve done some damage to my property.” I nod to my mailbox on the ground.
She flinches when a gust of wind barges past me right into her car. “I’ll pay for it.”
“I’m sure you will, but I want it in writing, which means we need to call the police and make an official report.”
“Cash. I’ll give you cash.” She rubs her forehead with her palm. “Wait … crap … my wallet is at my house. Listen, help me get my car back to my house, and I’ll pay you double the damage and a little extra to keep this between us.” Her tired, brown eyes catch the glow of my porch light while she tucks her black hair behind her ears.
She’s rather … pretty.
And it’s the middle of the night.
She’s shaky.
And she just mowed down my mailbox with her fancy car.
Yet … she’s still mesmerizing for some reason.
“Why do you need help getting your car home? You can see over the airbag, and the dent in your hood isn’t too bad. It should run just fine.”
Her nose wrinkles while she hugs herself. “I-I’m feeling a little woozy. I think it’s best if I’m done driving for the night.”
“It’s after two in the morning, and you want me to what? Drive you home because after nearly hitting my house and killing me you feel a bit woozy?”
She’s broke. She stole this car, and she’s broke. What other reason would there be for her to be out at this time? Drugs? Maybe.
Her pouty lips dip into a frown. “It’s the holidays. Where’s your spirit of giving?”
I cough a laugh. “Spirit of giving? That’s just perfect. It’s always the person with the short straw getting lectured on things like the spirit of giving.”
She blinks slowly several times. “You have beautiful eyes. Did you know that?”
Pfft …
Is she trying to flatter me? Does she think batting her eyelashes at me and complimenting my eyes is all that’s needed to remedy the situation? Is this supposed to get my dick hard?
It’s hard, but it’s more of a middle-of-the-night confusion, maybe even an angry kind of erection.
“Where do you live?” I ask.
“Five minutes from here.”
“Fine.” I fake a grumble, but I’d be lying if I said I’m not curious about her situation. And her. But mainly her situation.
Minutes later, she’s murmuring directions to her house.
I nod with each one. “What were you doing in the trailer park at two in the morning?”
“Research.” She stares out her window.
“Researching what?”
“The area.”
“Why?”
“Do you always ask so many questions?” She pins me with a look that would make a lesser man shudder. A lesser man with average eyes, not beautiful, blue eyes like mine. Yeah, yeah … I fell for her compliment.
“When I’m driving strangers home in the middle of the night, I feel entitled with my line of questions. I’m Henry, by the way.”
She nods several times. “I’m aware.”
“Did I tell you my name earlier?” I squint at the road, trying to recall when I told her my name.
“Go right here. Then left.”
I turn right and then left.
“Last one on the right,” she says.
I let up on the gas, the tires slowing to a stop before I reach the driveway.
“What are you doing?” she asks.
I stare at the Afina house. “You live here?”
“I do.”
“I was here yesterday. I met the owner. She wasn’t you.”
Her head whips in my direction. “You were here yesterday? You’re the plumber?”
“Um … yeah. Why?”
“I …” She squints for a few seconds. “I had no idea.”
I laugh. “Why would you?”
Okay, this chick is not playing with a full deck of cards.
She shakes her head. “Lola … uh … you met Lola. She’s my assistant. I’m Serena.”
“You’re the writer?” I pull into the driveway.