Sleeping with the Enemy (An Enemies to Lovers Collection)

That’s probably it. She’s worried I came here for a reason, and if she interferes in any unforeseen way, it will change what my grandfather wanted and alter the variables in the experiment. I know she said she didn’t want to prove or disprove any more theories, but it’s the only way I can think about it. How can I prove to her that I could be happy here?

Whoa. It’s been, like, a week, dude. Now I can see where she’s coming from. I’m steaming ahead, full freaking speed, while she’s more cautious. She wants to slow the heck down and get real. I should get real, too, because I can’t seriously be thinking about not going back to New York, can I? A week is hardly enough time to conduct a proper experiment or develop feelings I can trust.

I could kind of understand this morning, but thinking about it that way, I now really understand. I might have had some lingering testosterone-inspired effects this morning, too—a sort of sex-hangover—just saying. It might have clouded my brain and made me slightly less rational during our conversation and in the time period after. But now I can see where Becki’s coming from.

I can also see Becki.

Or rather, Becki’s truck.

She obviously sees me drive up because the driver door flings open, and she hops out. She’s hot and sweaty from waiting in the truck, but even with her hair soaked at the front, her face red, and her shirt clinging to her damply, she’s hotter than anyone I’ve ever seen dressed up for any social event in New York.

“Hey…” I’m a little flustered myself when I approach. The truck is older, probably from the late nineties, so maybe it won’t be overly complicated to take a look at it. “Want to pop the hood?”

“How do I do that?” Becki flushes harder. It’s pretty obvious she doesn’t like not knowing how to do something or having to admit it.

“Just right here.” I guide her over to the open door and point at the lever along the underside of the dash.

“Okay.” She pulls the button, and the hood gives with a decided pop.

I lift it up, put the little stick holder on—I never did learn what those things are actually called—and stick my head underneath. At least it’s cooled off under here. I can see right away what the problem is. Some belts are basically melted, and the battery looks cooked. I can’t get under it enough to take a good look at the alternator, but I’m betting that’s the issue, given how Becki said the lights were flickering the way they were.

“So it’s been harder to start lately?”

“Yeah, but I thought the battery was going dead.” Becki crosses her arms over her chest and gives the truck a ‘how dare you leave me stranded like this, such that Finn has to come and help me right when I obviously wanted to get away from him’ look.

“I’m pretty sure the alternator is dead, and it looks like it cooked a few things when it did. Did it smell like something was burning when it stopped?”

“I—I guess.” Becki gnaws on her bottom lip. “Fricking fuzzy bananas, how much is this going to cost?”

“Well, we should start with a tow. I don’t think having one come all the way from Topeka would be very budget-friendly unless you have a card that gives you free tows?”

“No.”

“Do you have a neighbor you could call? Someone with a truck? I think a tow strap would work since we aren’t very far from the farm.”

“Then what?” Becki moans. “I don’t have the money to get this fixed. I’m going to bet it would be a few grand, and I don’t have that kind of money. I don’t even personally have it. I could do the fundraising, but it would take a while to make that kind of money. People are less likely to donate if it’s for a truck and not an actual animal. I can’t just take photos of it broken down here at the side of the road and ask for help. It just looks bad.”

“I could take a look at it.”

She turns and gapes at me. “What? Are you for real?”

“I’m for real.” I chuckle and nudge a few small rocks with the toe of my boot. “I do know a few things about cars, given that I enjoy them. And also, our family does build motorhomes for a living.”

“But that’s new stuff. New technology. You don’t work on old beaters like this.”

“I haven’t, no, but I have worked on a few classic cars. Growing up, it was my dad’s favorite project. They were all cars, but I’m sure the truck isn’t that much more complicated. Plus, what I don’t know, the internet does. I just have to find it.”