Page 4 of Erotic Temptations 2

If you need a rescue code, say “potato salad.”

Also,tomorrow’s supposed to be colder. Try not to freeze.

My thumb hovered. Maybe I should text something clever back, but witty banter was a lot harder when you were stuffed with chicken and existential dread.

If I disappear, it’ll be because of death by carbohydrates.

That was what counted as flirting in my world. No wonder I was single.

I stared out the window a long time, watching snow dust the street. Should have been peaceful, but all it did was make me wonder what the hell I was doing with my life.

Maybe tomorrow would be better, or at least more distracting.

Eventually, I fell into a restless sleep, dreaming about work, ex-boyfriends, and Ryan’s laugh echoing from the other side of a snowbank.

* * * *

Next morning, I somehow managed to get myself awake, presentable, and dressed in jeans and a sweater that probably dated back to my college years, and made my way downstairs.

Dad had already left to meet his other retired friends at Dunkin’. Mom waited with a list the length of a CVS receipt. First task: go to the grocery store and get supplies for the annual cookie bake-a-thon. Sure, because nothing got my self-esteem soaring like fighting little old ladies for the last bag of flour.

Suitably caffeinated, I bundled up and braced myself for The Great Rental Car Experience, Round Two.

My rental car sat in the driveway, looking like a frozen Popsicle. Frost covered every surface. The car didn’t so much as unlock when I hit the button. I had to manually jab the key in, twist, and hope for the best. Once inside, my breath began fogging up the inside of the windshield, and then I summoned my best “I can do this” energy.

Insert key.

Turn.

Nothing.

The engine didn’t rattle, didn’t cough, didn’t even pretend to try. Just a depressing click, like the world’s shittiest symphony playing only the triangle.

Tried again.

Nada.

Well, not nothing. There was a sound, all right. A noise straight out of a horror movie, somewhere between a dying cat and a blender full of marbles. For one wild second, I imaginedthe car might explode or simply give up and roll itself back to the rental lot.

Tried again, because hope dies last.

Same choking, sputtering, utterly noncommittal noise.

This wasn’t my area of expertise. Actually, nothing car-related was my area of expertise. Once, in college, I’d tried to check my oil and ended up dripping engine goo down the front of my pants. That was the last time I’d been asked to be “handy” by anyone, for any reason.

I sat there with the key in the ignition, as if staring hard enough might fix it. Nope. Maybe if I bribed it with a playlist or the promise of premium gas? Tempting, but probably futile.

The logical move would be to trudge back inside and beg to borrow Dad’s car, which would end in a thirty-minute lecture about safe driving and filling up the tank before returning it. Wasn’t sure I had the stamina for that.

A knock at the window startled me. When I looked up, there was Ryan, all broad shoulders and blue jacket and a beanie that had definitely seen better days. His gloved fist tapped lightly, his breath making clouds in the air.

I rolled down the window, half-expecting to see him holding a superhero cape and offering to rescue me.

He flashed that same easy, be-all-end-all smile. “Want me to take a look?”

Short answer: absolutely. Long answer: yes, but can you also fix my entire life? I settled for the short answer.

“Sure. If you’re not busy.”