19. Finn #2
My shirt is stained with sweat by the time I free my full-sized spare and prop my car on the jack, having figured out how to do that by watching a quick video tutorial.
I’m loosening the lug nuts when my phone rings again.
My hands are covered in grime, but I manage to open the call on speaker without smearing my screen.
“Alec, hey. I’ve—”
“What’s taking you so long? I’ve got these two ladies here, and I promised them that my friend is on his way.”
His words are already slurred, which means that if I join him, I’ll be taking care of his belligerent mess all night.
The tension in my head doubles. Making sure Alec doesn’t punch another bar patron is my least favorite part of our friendship.
It’s one of the many things I wish he would have outgrown over the years.
Alec was the first friend I made upon moving here, the son of two wealthy lawyers.
He let me pay a decreased rent for a room in his penthouse apartment in downtown Virginia Beach if I agreed to be his permanent wingman.
I feel a little ashamed of it now, but living in Alec’s apartment had been too close to my upbringing not to give up.
It was professionally cleaned, the kitchen stocked and meals prepped and left in the refrigerator by their family chef, and the building had full amenities.
Since I’d never known the cost of anything, it eased the transition.
Look, I know how that sounds. Poor billionaire baby doesn’t know how to do anything, but I didn’t.
I was so lost the first time I entered a grocery store, let alone knowing how to navigate the deli counter.
Shortly after that, I ran dry the Aston Martin I had my personal assistant purchase and send to the hotel before the fallout with my father.
Everything had always been “handled” before, so I had no clue to watch the fuel gauge.
But I figured it out, just like I’ll have to do now with this flat.
“I blew a tire.”
“That sucks.” Ambient bar noise echoes over the line while the sweat on my brow begins to sting my eyes. “Get here as soon as you can,” he says before disconnecting the call.
I press my eyes closed before focusing on the nearby sorghum field. Tiny white butterflies flit between rows, darting in and out of the setting sunlight. It’d be breathtaking if I wasn’t in such a foul mood.
I’m halfway through loosening the lug nuts when a nondescript silver sedan slows behind me. I turn to wave it past, but the hazard lights flip on. A second later, Geneva marches from the car in heels and a tight sleeveless dress. Like at the boxing gym, she’s wearing head-to-toe black.
“You good?”
Like all our interactions, this seemingly kind question is barked in my general direction. Dark sunglasses cover most of her face as she scans the surrounding area.
“I’m fine. Thanks for checking on me.”
She shrugs, still surveying the fields. “Wasn’t sure you’d know how to change a tire.”
I’d be offended had I not watched an instructional video moments ago.
I level her with a practiced smile. “I’m good. Really.”
Her gaze slides to my paused hands. “I only stopped because if Noah found out I’d passed you by, he’d be ticked.
And if he gets mad, he bans the other firefighters from coming to class.
No sweaty, hot guys punching things, no middle-aged mamas attending my class.
It’s simple math. Apparently, now that you two are buddies”—Geneva says buddies like she’s chewing on maggots—“I’m supposed to be nice to you. ”
“And that’s incredibly difficult for you,” I deadpan.
The corner of her mouth quirks. “Glad you understand.”
A pause settles between us before Geneva leans a hip against my car. I wait for the jack to move, but she must not be applying any pressure.
“You don’t have to stay.”
“Trust me. I don’t want to.” Geneva slaps her forearm. “The mosquitos are in full force.”
Since it’s obvious she’s not going anywhere, I continue working.
When we’d been out for drinks, I’d asked Noah about Geneva.
He’d laughed and called her his ‘grouchy, overprotective half-sister.’ His unexpected description made me sift through my memories of Geneva.
Even with her surly demeanor, I’d seen her be gentle while correcting someone’s form or ensuring a nursing mother stays hydrated during her class.
Now, Geneva keeps peeking at my progress while simultaneously feigning boredom. Nothing about her body language gives off annoyance or impatience. It’s like she’s looking out for me in her own grumpy way.
When I lower my car until the wheel touches the ground and stand, Geneva bolts into action. “You’re not done.”
In the time it takes me to mentally run through the video’s steps, Geneva crouches to tighten the lug nuts. It’s an impressive feat in her three-inch heels. Geneva is already tall, making her eye to eye with me while wearing those.
The shock of this woman, who barely knows me, wrinkling her dress while helping me, makes my stomach swirl. “Stop. Please stop. I can do it.”
Geneva makes a dismissive noise, continuing to tighten in an alternating pattern. “Rule number one: Check your ego at the door.”
It’s something that’s painted on the interior wall of her gym in bold letters.
“It’s not that,” I say, crouching beside her. “It’s—”
“Look.” She stops tightening to focus on me, but I can’t see her eyes through the waning light and her dark sunglasses.
“If you’re about to have a moment, I’m going to need you to take that vulnerability and gobble it down like it’s the best thing you ever tasted.
” Her hand grabs a fistful of air and brings it to her lips.
“We’re just fixing your car. Then we’re going our separate ways.
I may have ovaries, but I’m not the person you bare your soul to. You got it?”
I nod.
She hands me the wrench and stands. “I’ve tightened these enough, but double-check them once you fully release the jack.
” Geneva takes a few purposeful strides toward her car before looking over her shoulder.
“And get some air in that tire once you find a gas station. It’s a little low. Actually, check all your tires.”
The brush-off feels oddly nurturing.
Once I’m back in the car and the AC is blowing full blast, I text Alec that I’m on my way.
Sometime tomorrow, I’ll need to get the tire replaced since I was lucky enough to have a full-sized spare.
I’ve decided that tonight is going to be about catching up and keeping my friend out of trouble.
Maybe if I fill Alec with water and food before I have to leave, he’ll refrain from using his muscles in the wrong ways.
Maybe.
Because I’m not interested in kissing anyone tonight.
Not unless they let words tumble off their tongue in unexpected ways, or have springy chestnut curls, or give me a large beaming smile that no one else gets to see.
I drag my thoughts away from Vivian, rubbing at the goosebumps that trail down my forearms.
It’s actually good that Vivian isn’t interested in me.
It’s the best possible outcome. There’s entirely too much on the line to get distracted now.
Cordelia’s call solidified that. I have no doubt that Dad leaked the information to my sister just to rattle me.
Little does he know, he just gave me an ally.
Now that Cordelia knows, that bone-deep loneliness I’ve felt for years has shifted.
And when I pull into the parking garage in downtown Virginia Beach just as my sister texts me a smiling selfie of her, a toilet bowl, and an electric toothbrush pinched between her manicured fingers, I actually laugh.