“I talk too much when I’m nervous,” I say, grimacing.
He grips the top of the window with one hand, his eyes still twinkling. “I was just kidding. I’ve never considered the dangers of sneezing and driving before. You have me wondering what other hazards lurk that I haven’t thought about.”
“There are tons of lurking hazards.” I tap at the air vent by the display. “Ever wondered if a snake climbed in your engine at night? And then it occurs to you while you’re driving that it could pop out one of these?”
He shakes his head, clearly amused. “I have not. I am also fairly certain this is impossible if that makes you feel any better.”
“Well, if you’re right, it does. But what’s your expertise in this area?” I narrow my eyes. “Do you even know anything about cars?”
He rewards me with a laugh again. “Get out of there so we can survey the damage and decide what to do.”
“So, that’s a no on knowing anything about cars,” I say as I climb out of the car.
A burst of wind greets me as I step onto the pavement. The contact of my shoe with the ground catapults me back into reality, causing me to look at the front of my car again. I so don’t need this headache.
Oliver walks around the car and stands beside me. He’s taller than me by a handful of inches, probably hitting six feet without shoes. He stands tall and confident, his body long and lean like an athlete but without the bulk of one. And, for the first time in a long time, I feel a crackle of attraction to another person.
I must’ve hit my head.
“Well, that’s disappointing,” I say, focusing on the mess in front of me and not at the man at my left.
“That depends on what you’re looking at.”
I don’t look at him, but I don’t have to in order to know he’s looking at me. His gaze is heavy on my cheek.
A chill fires through my body as I try not to read into his words or the way they—he— oozes sex appeal.
“My bumper is definitely not supposed to be touching the ground,” I say and then force a swallow. “That’s pretty disappointing.”
He switches his attention from me to the cars. “On the other hand, I’m pretty sure my mechanic can just pop my panel out, and I’ll be good to go.”
“Good for you.”
Knowing nothing about car repair except for the fact that it’s not cheap and the state of my front end is … hanging, all I see are dollar signs. Dollar signs that I do not have.
My stomach tightens as reality sobers me a little more.
“So, what do you want to do about this?” he asks.
Cry?
“I don’t know,” I say. “What do you do in an accident?”
He moves to get a better look at the damage. “According to Georgia law, we don’t have to involve the police unless there’s an injury, death, or property damage over five hundred dollars.”
“This is not the first time you’ve been in this situation, I gather.”
“What can I say?” He grins. “I was a mischievous teenager and I have four brothers. It’s a recipe for disaster.”
“Four brothers? Your poor mother.”
He laughs. The sound is easy and comfortable, as if we’re discussing the weather or family stories and not property damage. I don’t really know what to make of that.
“Well, there’s no injury and no death, but I have no idea on the amount of damage. Do you?”
“Probably fifteen hundred or so.”
Shit.
“That is,” he says, pausing for effect, “if you take it to a random mechanic and get ran up.” He slips his hands into his pockets. “My mechanic, though—I bet we could get him to do it for less than five hundred.”
A-ha!
I twist around and square my shoulders with his. “So, what you’re saying is that we estimate the damage is less than five hundred dollars, so we don’t have to call the police.”
“That’s what I’m saying. We don’t have to call the police if you don’t want to. I don’t plan on turning mine into insurance. If you are, we need to call the cops for a report. The insurance will want that.”
I’m not reporting this to anyone. Involving the police sets us up for tickets and I’d definitely be getting one. I also have no interest in getting this fixed for five hundred or fifteen hundred if it’s not totally necessary.
“Let me ask you this,” I say, rocking back on my heels. “Can I drive it like that?”
“How far do you have to go?”
“Not far.”
He bends at the front end and inspects it. He peers beneath the busted plastic or whatever a bumper is made out of and fiddles with things.
I stand behind him and watch. My mind takes off, sprinting away from the accident and straight into bed with Oliver. I’m visualizing his rough palms grazing over my body and the taste of his lips against mine. The way my name sounds when it comes through clenched teeth—“Oh!”
He stands abruptly, catching me off guard. I jump back and clutch my heart.
He dusts his hands off and grins. Amusement is written all over his handsome face.
“I have an idea,” he says, heading to the Rover.
Me too, but it’s probably not what you have in mind. It was nothing to do with getting my car engine running.
He opens the back of his SUV and digs around. I use the opportunity to catch my breath.
The whole day has been a whirlwind of fuckery. I stubbed my toe climbing out of bed. The water heater decided to go out two minutes into my shower. The staffing agency I have been using to fill an employment gap had me booked for a weekend afternoon shift downtown. When I showed up to the address they gave me, so did another woman—the right woman. She stayed. I was sent home.
The day did not get better from there.
Clearly.
I sigh and look up as Oliver stalks toward me with zip ties dangling from his hands.
Oh, good grief.
Two possibilities fire through my mind at the exact same time. I didn’t know that was possible, but it happens.
One is that he’s going to tie my hands a la Christian Grey. Now that I think about it, he has that businessman-with-a-backstory vibe going on.
The other is that he’s going to secure my wrists together and perform a citizen’s arrest. It seems possible. He somehow knows the law.
Then it hits me.
He’s a cop.
I’m not sure whether to run or offer myself up. Getting detained could go either way, depending on the final destination—police station or Red Room.
Oliver stops a few steps away, his gaze turning wary as he reads my expression. “I was going to try to tie your bumper up with these, but if you don’t want me to …”
My shoulders slump and I sigh. Relief is mixed with disappointment. “Oh.”
His gaze narrows. “I feel like I missed something.”
“I was thinking about what you were going to do with those zip ties.”
His eyes darken. “Oh, really?”
“But tying up my bumper sounds like quite the plan,” I say, adding a laugh as if that will somehow erase the thinly veiled reference that we both know exists. “Zip ties are strong. I bet I won’t even need a mechanic, huh?”