Renegade Hearts (Rebels of Sandland 1)

“No, darling. I have errands to run myself. I can’t drop everything just because you can’t manage your affairs.”

“I can manage myself just fine. You know what, just forget it. I’ll wait here. I’ll probably get murdered by some psycho and you can live with that on your conscience for the rest of your life, but that’s your affair to deal with.”

“Stop being so melodramatic, Emily. It’s your problem, solve it. Oh, and don’t bother your father with this. He’s in Westminster for the week. He doesn’t need to know about your dramas.”

They really broke the mould when they made my mother. I knew she was still pissed that I’d bailed on their “kick-ass” garden party, but she didn’t have to put my life at risk to hammer home her point.

“This isn’t a drama, it’s…” Typical, she hung up. I really was a blot on their landscape of perfection.

I threw my mobile onto the front seat and sat in the car with the door open and my legs on the road, contemplating walking back in the direction of Liv’s house, just to give me something to do.

Twenty minutes later, and I was lying back in my car, the driver’s seat reclined as far back as it’d go, and my eyes closed, trying to make sense of everything and everyone in my life. There was no sense. That was my conclusion and I was sticking to it.

I heard the hum of a motor in the distance and sat up, looking in my rear-view mirror to see a recovery truck making its way down the lane. I got out of the car and painted a huge smile on my face, ready to greet the breakdown guy. He was early, and I felt like doing a happy dance right there in the middle of the road. When the red truck pulled up behind me though, my stomach dropped out. Hardy and Sons was emblazoned along the side.

Great.

Just my fucking luck.

I folded my arms and braced myself. This wasn’t going to be pretty. The driver’s door swung open and Ryan Hardy stepped down from inside. I half expected him to be grinning at me, but he wasn’t. It looked more like a scowl, but it did nothing to stop the butterflies from attacking my system. My hands were shaking, and I couldn’t quite look him in the eye. Ryan Hardy had always done this to me. Turned me into a blithering wreak. I’d hated that Danny had been friends with him, but thankfully, he’d never been invited to our house. So my contact with him growing up had been minimal.

He was wearing grubby blue overalls, but even I could appreciate how hot he looked. He’d always had muscles. He’d always been that guy. The one that takes care of himself, likes to look good and knows he does. His dark blond hair had a wave to it and did that thing where it fell into his eyes all the time, so he was always running his fingers through it or dipping his head whenever he looked at you, giving him that sexy vibe that most girls drooled over.

Who was I kidding? We all lost our shit over Ryan Hardy whenever he was around. But I wasn’t dumb enough to fall for his bad boy charm. Not that he ever sent any of that charm my way. I don’t even think he knew who I was until last night.

He stalked over to where I was, running his eyes over my car and then onto me. He ran his hand across his tanned, stubbled jaw and gave a low chuckle.

“Well, what do we have here? Got into a bit of trouble, Winters?”

I was grateful my voice didn’t come out as a squeak when I answered him.

“I’ve broken down, but then you can’t be that dumb, surely? Why else would I need you?” I said the last part on a sneer. I needed him to know he was a blip on my radar.

A nothing.

A nobody.

“I think you need me more than you realise. But I can always go… Leave you to sort this shit out yourself.” He turned and went to walk away. Asshole.

“Fine, wait!” I called out after him and he stopped, looking back at me under that damn curtain of hair. “Can you get it started again?”

“That depends?” He smirked, coming back towards me.

“On what?” I put my hands on my hips and stood my ground.

“On whether it’s fixable? Pop the bonnet open and I’ll take a look.” He swerved past me, brushing against my side as he did and then stood in front of my car. He motioned to the bonnet, nodding his head down as he did, and bit his lip to stop another smirk escaping. He was loving this.

I grabbed the door handle a little too hard and flung it open, then pulled the lever to free the bonnet. The hood clicked open and he rolled his sleeves up, showcasing his forearms, veins, and muscles that he’d been hiding. Damn, what was it about a guy’s forearm that was so sexy? He lifted the bonnet and fixed the arm to hold it in place, then he started fiddling about with things, unscrewing caps and pulling things off, blowing on them and putting them back. He did a really good job of making it look like he was an expert, but when he sauntered to the side of the car and bent down to rest in a squat, leaning his arm on my car window, I wanted to push him off, expert be damned.

“Looks like your head gasket.” He brushed down the front of his overalls, ridding himself of some imaginary lint in an effort to look nonchalant.

“Can it be fixed now?” I gripped my useless steering wheel to stop myself from shoving him and making him fall and roll backwards like a fucking beetle. I smirked at the image, but he soon wiped that off my face.

“Those parts will probably take a couple of days to order. Another couple of days to fix. This,” he gestured to my car, “is gonna need towing.”

I smacked my hands on my steering wheel in anger.

“Mother fucker.”