“Hello! Everything okay there?” She runs her finger along the hood of her car, stopping when she reaches the grill.
I realize I’m gawking. “Oh, uh, yeah, I mean, no. My car broke down.” I thumb over my shoulder at the propped up hood.
“Yeah, I kinda figured.” One side of her mouth tips up in an amused smile. “Any idea what’s wrong?”
I rub my beard and give my head a shake. “Uh, not really? And I can’t get a signal, so calling a tow is tough.”
“Yeah, the reception out here can be spotty depending on your carrier.” She tucks a thumb into her pocket and tips her chin up. “Want me to have a look?”
I can’t imagine what she’s going to be able to do for me, but she’s offering assistance and she’s got a rockin’ body, so I figure why not let her check under my hood? That way I can appreciate her very nice legs without coming across as a leering jerk.
“Sure.” I shrug and step aside.
It’s hotter than a sauna out here and windy, so my hair is blowing all over the place. I gather it up and use the hair tie wrapped around my wrist to secure it in a topknot. Sweat trickles down my spine and my balls are sticking to the inside of my thigh. Commando is probably not the way to go in the desert.
She takes a few tentative steps closer. “I’m Nevah.”
“Never?” I’m struck by a strange sense of déjà vu.
Up close I can see that she has a delicate jawline and full lips. Her long, dark hair is pulled back into a ponytail and threaded through the snapback of her ball cap. She has a dainty nose and high cheekbones, and for some reason, she seems familiar.
She grins. “Not quite. It’s haven spelled backwards, but pronounced like neva eva.”
“Were your parents fans of En Vogue or something?” I want to punch myself in my nuts for asking that.
Especially when she arches a brow. “If you start singing that song, I’m getting back in my car.”
“Sorry. That was bad. And I can’t sing, so I will definitely not offend you further by doing something so heinously disrespectful.” I extend a hand. “I’m Lawson.”
She glances down at my grease-streaked hand, brow furrowed. “Lawson? Is that your first name or last name?”
“First.” I make a fist. ”My hands are disgusting. Bump instead?”
“I’m about to get myself dirty, so I’m not really worried about it.” She slips her fingers into my palm. I instantly regret it because mine is damp and hers is not. Her grip is also incredibly firm. “Also, I thought you were a woman when I first drove by, so on the off chance you’re a psychopath lunatic surfer dude, I should inform you that I’ve taken self-defense classes and I can debilitate you with one move. I also have mace, and I can break your knees with a tire iron, if necessary.” She releases my hand.
“Right. Uh, okay. Well, I’m not a psychopath lunatic surfer and I’ve never taken self-defense classes, so I feel like you’ve got a leg up on me. Also, I don’t have mace, so if you happen to be a lunatic, it looks like there’s a chance I’ll end up baking to death in the sun.” Why the hell does she look so familiar?
She drags her hand down her face to cover her grimace. “Sorry, I watched the Don’t Fuck with Cats documentary last week. It freaked me out to think that Canadians could be serial killers, you know? Makes you wonder if they tell you they’re sorry while they’re lopping off your head.”
“Dude! I watched that last week, too! I’m supposed to go up to Canada next month. Now I feel like I might need those self-defense lessons you’re talking about and maybe the mace, too. Scared the shit right out of me. Not literally, of course, just figuratively.”
“I love Netflix, but those freaking documentaries always call my name late at night. It’s never a good idea, and yet I do it every time.” She turns her attention to my car and ducks under the hood.
“I hear you on that.” I try not to watch a lot of TV in the evening; otherwise, I find myself binging series and then I sleep until noon and fuck half my day away.
She makes another face and whistles. “I hope you weren’t planning to drive this baby up to Canada. She’s gonna need a lot of work before she’s ready to be ridden hard, aren’t you, sweetheart?” She strokes along the fender, the same way I would caress a lover during foreplay.
Also, I’m not sure if I actually heard those words come out of her mouth or I’ve just been standing in the sun too long. Maybe she’s not even real. She could be a mirage that my mind has conjured up. I could be lying on the ground right now, halfway to dead and not even know it.
She looks up at me, her ponytail swishing across her shoulder, and pushes her sunglasses up. For the first time, I get a look at her eyes. They’re a shade of blue that reminds me of the beach. Cool and fresh and inviting. I think I might be thirsty.
“Lawson?”
“Huh?”
“How long have you been stranded out here?”
I consider raising my arm to do a sniff test, but I’ve already offended her with the En Vogue reference, and she’s likened me to a Canadian serial killer. I’m thinking I don’t want to do anything else she might consider distasteful or she’ll use those self-defense skills. Unless she’s an actual mirage, in which case the point is moot.
Still, on the off chance she’s real, I should try to act somewhat normal. “Um, I’m not sure, but I’m pretty sweaty, so I’m going to say it’s been a while. Why?”
“Because I called your name four times before you responded.”
“Oh, sorry.” I rub the back
