The Ex Files (Ocean View #1)(7)

“Hey, miss, can I-”

“Oh, finally!” She steps out, black shiny high-heeled shoes leaving the car first as she opens the door and steps out. I recognize the iconic red bottoms the interior light reflects off and the logo on the cuff of her jacket. Money. She has it. I would know. While I chose to work a blue-collar job, we grew up on the wealthy side of town, never wanting for anything.

“I’m sorry, I—” I try to figure out what’s going on, how she got here, why she’s been crying, but she cuts me off once again, the words curt and clipped.

“Come, it’s this one. God, I can’t believe it took this long. I sent the dispatch request nearly two hours ago.” She sounds… angry. At me? I look at my phone to see if maybe Jeff sent me a text for a disabled vehicle pick up, but nothing. There’s no service on this stretch of road. I’ve driven it enough to know service for the next two miles is spotty at best.

It’s clear she thinks I’m someone else sent to help her. It’s also clear that whoever was supposed to help her wasn’t coming.

“Ma’am, I think you’re confused—” I try to explain the mix-up. Either way, I’d be happy to help, but again, she cuts me off, looking over her shoulder as she walks around her car. Glossy dark waves sway with the movement.

“I seriously thought I’d be stuck here all night. This service is terrible. I can’t believe I paid so much for it.” I should be annoyed or angry even, but something about her indignation, as misguided as it is, is entertaining. So instead, I decide to play along.

“I do apologize, Ms…”

“Reynolds. Cassie. It’s right here.” She points to a flat rear tire, but I can’t look at it. Her hand has moved aside her white coat, and even in the dark, I can see her figure is phenomenal in a dark dress hugging generous curves but still covering her demurely, a mix of vixen and modest. Ending at her knee, shapely legs lead to those heels that have me thinking about… “Hello?” The annoyed voice bursts through my thoughts.

“Huh?” My eyes shoot to her face, which looks even more frustrated than before, if possible.

“I said, can you fix this? I need to get out of here. I already missed an appointment, and I’ll need to reschedule. I never miss appointments.”

An appointment. What kind of appointment could she have to go to dressed like that?

Squatting beside the tire, the issue is clear—a silver nail glints in the moonlight and tells me the reason for the flat.

“Do you have a spare?”

“I have no clue. I think so?” Looking up at her, she’s gnawing on her lip. Instead of frustrated, she now seems embarrassed and stressed. “Honestly, I just got this car a few weeks ago and barely know how to turn on the heat. I keep telling myself I’m going to learn how to change a tire, but I never get to it because, you know, life and work and life and Netflix. But now I’m really regretting it because I was pretty sure I was going to be stuck here forever and freeze, and then I’d be found a like a human ice pop and no one would—”

“Alright, sweetheart, calm down. You’re gonna be okay. No human ice pops on my watch.” I’m fighting the desire to laugh at her rambling as I stand and go to the trunk, tapping it twice gently with the side of my first. “Can you pop this?”

“Can you not hit my car, please?”

“Just a love tap, trust me. Doesn’t hurt it.” I wink at her, and she rolls her eyes at me but doesn’t argue, instead walking to the driver’s side to pull the latch, popping the truck. Digging in, I pull out the spare and jack before getting down to where the flat is. “Wanna learn?” I ask, staring at her in the dark. It’s hard to see her face, but the moon illuminates her head, shaking, declining the offer. “Suit yourself.” I loosen the lug nuts along the rim, setting up the jack and continuing to remove the flat before replacing it with the spare. “So you’re gonna want to bring this to a garage as soon as possible, get this flat fixed. You shouldn’t drive far on your spare.” She looks confused.

“You guys don’t do that here? What the fuck am I paying for monthly?” she grumbles, and maybe this has gone too far. I can’t blame her for her frustration, especially if she’s been stuck out here waiting for a truck for two hours. I know how overpriced the dealers' services are, and I also know that they are incredibly unreliable.

“Ma’am, I don’t—”

“Cassie. Please, call me Cassie. It’s fine. I get it. You don’t make the rules. Just get it on. I’m freezing.” She’s looking up impatiently at the empty road now, rubbing her hands over her arms. Her demeanor has changed again, going from relieved to frustrated she’s still stuck here. Like I’ve become an inconvenience for her. What is with this chick? Finally, I’m done playing the game. I stop and look up at her, the wrench clattering to the ground.

“Look, I don’t know who you think—”

“I know I’m being a bitch,” she says, cutting me off, and the look in her eyes has me forgetting what I was going to say. Regret and anxiety and… sadness are there. “Honestly, I spent hours out here, not sure if you’d ever come. I missed a meeting and left him there, no notice. No one knows where I am. I’ve been… I’ve been through it tonight, and my emotions are still a bit crazy. I’m cold, hungry, and I really have to pee. But that’s no excuse to talk to you like that.”