Slowly, I looked up to study his face. Our eyes met for the briefest instant before his gaze drifted downward to my imprisoned elbow. He frowned. "Is there a problem?"
Oh yeah.Tonight, there were so many problems that if I started talking now, I'd still be yammering at sunrise – not that I'd ever subject a stranger to my list of complaints.
So instead, I gave my arm another yank. This time, my mom actually let go. Of course, she did it nice and smooth, as if shehadn'tbeen holding me in a death grip. Her hand drifted to her hair, and she made a show of brushing a long tendril off her nearly bare shoulder. In response to the stranger's question, she practically purred, "No problem here. Just girl talk. You know how it is."
The guy's jaw tightened, and something in his eyes suggested that yes, he did know – and not the way she hoped.
The stranger looked back to me and asked, "You need a ride?"
Before I could even think of answering, my mom spoke up. "Actually, we have plans for tonight, but I'd justloveto give you my number."
I couldn’t help but cringe. One thing about my mom, she never wasted an opportunity, not even now, when she was literally on her way to meet someone else – a guy who happened to be a whole lot older and a lot less attractive.
But then again, my momdidlike to trade up.
In the back of my mind, I gave it five minutes before she pulled out the old "I'm too tipsy to walk" routine. Isodidn't want that to happen. Already, she was like two seconds away from tossing the guy her panties – assuming she was wearing any.
On that disturbing note, I took a deep breath and asked the awful question that I'd been dreading. "Was that your car?" I felt myself swallow. "I mean, the one that just crashed?"
Of course, ithadto be. Pricey car, pricey guy, pricey shoes – well, as far as I could tell, anyway.
His gaze locked on mine. "Forget the car."
Across from us, my mom gave a little laugh. "As if we could." She glanced briefly toward the accident. "Thatisa Lamborghini, right?"
I tensed.Oh, God. Was it?With renewed dread, I turned to look. The car's engine was no longer running, and its stereo had gone utterly silent. As for the headlights, they were still on. But why? To illuminate the street ahead? Or because the crash had messed up something with the controls?
Either way, the car would surely need some serious repairs. I bit my lip.How much would they cost? And who would be paying?
I was still looking at the car when my mom told the guy, "You won't believe this, but that's my absolute dream car."
My stomach clenched. Her dream.Mynightmare. I didn't bother pinching myself, because I was definitely awake – unfortunately.
The guy said, "It's not a Lambo."
It wasn't?
Was that good?
Or bad?
Withmyrecent luck, the car was probably somethingmoreexpensive.
I looked back just in time to see my mom reach out and place a flirty hand on the lapel of the guy's tuxedo jacket. She beamed up him and whispered, "Funny, Istilllove it. Crazy, huh?"
The stranger's gaze shifted to her hand. After a long, cold moment, he replied, "You said it. Not me."
Something in his tone – or maybe in his eyes – made my mom pull back. Still, she managed to say, "So…maybe you'll give me a ride sometime?"
Oh, she wanted a ride, alright.
I spoke up. "Would that bebeforeorafterit's repaired?"
Her gaze snapped in my direction. "Of course, I mean after." She tried for a laugh. "Obviously."
I was glaring now. "Youdorealize we caused that accident." I held her gaze and waited. For what, I didn't know. It's not like she was big on accepting responsibility.
After a long moment, she looked away and mumbled, "I wouldn’t saywe."
