“Forget it,” I said stiffly. “I’m not looking for a handout.”
“Never said you were.”
“Then what is this?”
He contemplated that for a long moment. Then he murmured quietly, “There’s a difference between asking for a handout and accepting a handupwhen you’ve taken a little stumble.”
I suppressed a shriek. “Do you have some sort of hero-complex I should be aware of?”
“If by hero-complex you mean basic human dignity… Sure, we can call it that.” His dark brows arched upward. “What’s your problem with heroes, anyway?”
“I don’t have a problem. I just don’t buy into the whole….” I gestured vaguely in his general direction. “…thing.”
“And whatwhole thingmight that be?”
“The whole thing where people are good to one another for no reason at all, without any ulterior motives.”
He scoffed. “Let me get this straight. You’d be more willing to accept my help if I had some devious hidden agenda than if I was just a good samaritan, looking out for the greater good? Keeping my karma balanced?”
“I don’t give a crap about your karma. I just want to get my car fixed so I can get the hell out of this cursed town.”
“Cursed is a strong word.”
“According to a very reliable source—” Okay, so, Moonbeam wasn’t exactlyreliable, but… whatever. “—this place is a center of mystical convergence.”
His eyes crinkled up at the corners again. “I’m sure it is. But I’m hoping you won’t hold that against us as a community.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because I’m hoping you’re going to stick around for a bit.”
He was?
Why?
I was instantly suspicious and made sure he knew it, glowering up at him as I snapped, “Have you seen my car? Have yousmelledmy car? I’m not going anywhere until I get a mechanic to fix whatever’s causing it to implode before our very eyes. Preferably one who won’t charge me an arm and a leg.”
“I know it’s called a body shop, but I doubt they actually charge you in body parts.”
“Are you making fun of me, Highpower?”
“Hightower,” he corrected, sounding more amused than insulted by my jab. “Which reminds me — you haven’t told me your name.”
My mouth suddenly felt somewhat dry. “Why do you need my name? I thought I wasn’t in trouble.”
“Are you always this jumpy?”
“I’m not jumpy!” I insisted, even though I was so jumpy, the pole vaulters at the Olympic Games would probably find me impressive. To cover said jumpiness, I tore my eyes away from his piercing blue ones and looked around the — now fully dark — street in despair.
I totally should’ve tried my luck at the biker bar.
Chapter Four
Judging by most dating profiles I’ve seen, we as a society really took that “teach a man to fish” proverb to heart…
- Imogen Warner, swiping left on yet another fish photo
Taking advantage of my momentary distraction, the detective stepped around me and made his way to the front of my car. He ducked his tall frame under the hood to examine the engine without preamble. I trailed helplessly behind him, studying the broad planes of his back as he bent forward to tinker with something out of view.