“It’s fitting.”
“You’re not wrong.”
I raise a brow, surprised he agreed so easily.
I peek at him out of the corner of my eye, watching as he stares down at the ground.
Shep is insanely attractive—even I can’t deny that—but it was never his looks that drew me to him. That would have been impossible, anyway, since we only communicated via text message at first.
Tonight, he’s dressed simply, his long legs clad in dark jeans. A white t-shirt covers his broad, muscled shoulders, and he’s even wearing a black pair of those old man shoes that seem to be a thing these days.
His hair is perfectly messy, the black locks pushed around in an artful yet effortless way. His hazel eyes are shrouded in shadows, and not just because of the dark and dingy parking lot we’re standing in.
There’s something on Shep’s mind, and I’m certain it has to do with that article.
A part of me wants to ask him about it because, being a journalist, I’m a naturally curious person. More so, though—as much as I hate to admit it—I want to ask him because of the Shep I used to know.
Thing is, he hasn’t been that person in a long damn time.
“You have a spare?” he finally says.
“In the trunk.”
“Want me to help you?”
His words surprise me so much all I can do is stare at him.
He lets out a bitter laugh. “Quit acting so fucking surprised, Den. I’m not a monster.”
“Could have fooled me.”
He snorts. “Okay, fine. I deserve that, but final offer—you want my help or not?”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to say yes because I’m tired and bloated and I just want to go home and eat my now melting ice cream, but this is Shep I’m talking to here. Icannotlet him in again, not even a little bit.
The pain that came with that mistake last time was enough to set my heart on fire for years.
I’ll pass.
“No.”
He stands there, not moving, eyes hard.
“I’m not some helpless little girl, Clark. I can change a tire by myself.”
He looks around the lot one more time—for what, I don’t know—before giving me a nod. “Suit yourself then. Good night, Denver.”
“Night,” I mutter as he turns on his heel and walks in the opposite direction.
Letting out a huff in a mixture of relief and irritation, I dig my keys from my purse and unlock the doors to my hatchback. I toss my bags into the passenger seat, roll up the sleeves of my sweater, and pop open my trunk.
I push aside all the miscellaneous crap I have back here, namely those reusable bags Ialwaysforget to take into the store, and pull up the compartment to grab my tire.
“What theshit, universe! Are you messing with me right now?”
There’s a giant nail poking out of the spare.
Of course there is.
