“Shit.”
“What?”
Archer sighed, then gestured to his truck. “Flat tire. I must have run over a nail or something.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “And my truck doesn’t have a spare.”
The universe had a Machiavellian sense of humor.
The last thing we needed was to be cooped up together inside my dependable sedan.
Thelastfucking thing.
But this was me, and the urge to help someone I liked would always be greater than avoiding the things I was afraid of.
“I can bring you home.”
His eyes snapped to mine. “Are you sure?”
No.
Yes.
Definitely not.
“What are friends for?”
Chapter Twenty-One
Archer
We walked to her car in silence, sharing a quick, loaded glance over the roof of her vehicle before she unlocked the doors. Remi’s car was mostly clean, only some soccer cleats and an extra water bottle on the passenger side, which she tossed onto the floor behind her. In the back seat was a bag holding reusable grocery totes and a small stack of books that must have tipped over as she was driving.
The console held ChapStick, some spare change, a hair tie, and a bright-pink container of hand sanitizer. A large reusable water bottle covered with colorful stickers sat in one of the two cupholders.
Everything about her life was so heartbreakingly normal to me, in a way that almost hurt, and I fucking loved that she didn’t apologize for having stuff in her car.
“You’re probably gonna want to—”
My helpless grunt as I tried to fit into the passenger seat cut her off, because I was about seven inches too tall to fit. Her voice broke off into choked laughter.
“You’ll want to slide that seat back before you get in,” she finished around a wide smile.
“Thanks for the warning.” I found the lever on the side of the seat and pushed it back as far as it could go. Better. Not perfect, but better.
“Your truck is probably immaculate on the inside, isn’t it?”
“Afraid so. Growing up, I was convinced that if a single piece of garbage touched the interior of my father’s car, the entire thing would self-destruct. Can’t help but be influenced by that.”
I pulled my seat belt over and clicked it into place as she sent her grandfather a text, letting him know what she was doing.
The dirt decorating the side of my truck caught her attention, and she gave me a quick look. “Not the outside, though. Even mine is cleaner than that.”
I grinned. “I live on a dirt road. Just finished building the house a couple months ago, and I haven’t gotten around to getting the drive out to the road done yet. Washing my truck regularly is an exercise in futility. The bonus is that it drives my old man fucking crazy.”
My ribs squeezed tight as she handed me her phone so I could type in my address. What did she expect to find? I hadn’t built my home thinking about anyone else’s approval, but I found myself desperate for hers.
Remi wasn’t thinking about my house. Her mind, apparently, was still on the last thing I’d said.
“Do you hate him?” Her eyes were big in her face when she turned them in my direction briefly. “It sounds like you might.”