Love Story (Love Unexpectedly 3)

or handle. “Get out.”

“Why? It’s hot.”

He doesn’t answer. He goes around to the trunk, and I reluctantly follow him, mostly because he turned off the car, and without the AC, it’s sweltering.

Hmm. Not much better outside. And it’s humid as all heck.

By the time I make it around to the trunk, I’m already sweating. Reece tosses a bag at my chest before dumping others on the dirt beside my feet.

“Hey! You’re getting my stuff all dirty!”

He grumbles something I can’t understand and probably don’t want to. He finally reaches the bottom of the trunk, tugging up on the nasty-looking fabric that separates the stuff in the trunk from, I dunno…car stuff.

Car stuff, as it turns out, that includes a spare tire.

He moves slightly to the side so I can see it better. I glance down at it, then at him.

Reece gestures, as though I’m supposed to pull it out of the trunk.

I blink. “You can’t be serious. You’ve forgotten how to change a flat tire?”

His expression is completely emotionless. “Yes, that’s right. I took this car from being a pile of rusty metal into a running automobile to get your ass from Virginia to California, but nope…no idea how to change a flat.”

I ignore his sarcasm and make a hand gesture of my own, as though to say Have at it.

He doesn’t move. “Do you know how to change a flat?”

I purse my lips. “Um.”

Reece uses his free hand to shove the sunglasses on top of his head, fixing me with an icy blue stare. “You should learn.”

“Why? My dad gave you a Triple A card. I may not know how to change a tire, but I’m super good at making phone calls.”

I give him what I know to be my prettiest smile, but he only snorts and uses a finger to flick his glasses back onto his nose. “Come on. I’ll show you.”

“I hope by ‘show you,’ you mean do it yourself,” I mutter.

Still, he has a point. I’m hardly a tomboy, but neither do I want to be labeled as one of those princesses scared of breaking a nail.

(Real truth: if I’d had a manicure in the past two weeks, my stance right now would be different. But as it is, my nails are bare and cut short as a nod to the casual road-trip vibe, so…why the hell not?)

I drop the bag I’m holding on to the ground along with the others, wrap both hands around the spare tire, and tug.

It moves, but only a little. I struggle with it. Reece isn’t known for patience, and after about forty-five seconds he reaches down and hoists it out easily with one arm, giving me a waft of that hideously wonderful cologne in the process.

Crap. Now I’m distracted.

I’m also really sweating now, and pluck at my blouse where it sticks to my back.

Reece, for his part, looks only a little bit shiny, and the look is really good on him.

I want to lick.

He stares at me. “Grab it, Lucy.”

“Grab what?”

My eyes are locked somewhere in the vicinity of his crotch, and I hear him grunt before he points toward the front of the car. “Roll the damn tire up there. I’ll bring the jack.”