After Hours (InterMix)(81)
The notion made me weary, but I dug in my purse for my phone and scrolled to his number. My heart migrated north, like an Adam’s apple thumping in my throat as I listened to the tone.
“C’mon, Kel . . .”
After three rings, “Booty call?”
I had to laugh. And I had to admit to myself, I was relieved he wasn’t off boning another girl when I needed him. “I have a favor to ask. A really annoying one.”
“That’s my favorite kind. Shoot.”
“My car won’t start. I’m at my sister’s in North Woodley.”
I heard him grunt softly, like he was getting to his feet. “I’ll be there in an hour.”
“Any chance you know anything about the engines of late-model Tempos?”
“I may. And if I’m lying, I’ll bring a tow bar. Two-wheel drive?”
“Yeah.”
“Manual?”
“Yes. And thank you.”
Keys jingled in the background. “Address?”
I dictated it.
“On my way.” He hung up before I could say good-bye.
I went back inside, finding Jack rolling his dump truck back and forth along the sofa cushions. Amber was crouched in front of the fridge, stacking beers in the crisper.
She glanced up. “Forget something?”
I shed my jacket and dropped my bag on the counter. “No, my car won’t start.”
“Oh damn. Need the Yellow Pages?”
“No, I called a friend. He’ll be here in an hour. If he can’t fix it, he can at least tow it out of your driveway and drop me home.”
“That’s an awful handy friend to have. Who is this guy?” She drew out the guy, batting her eyelashes wildly.
“He’s my coworker—an orderly from my ward. We’ve hung out a few times after work.”
She shut the fridge door. “What’s an orderly, exactly?”
“They do all the butch stuff. Restraining patients, lifting heavy equipment, escorting people. Just sort of be there, in case something needs doing.”
“Like a bouncer?”
“Pretty much.” Bouncer, orderly, prison guard. Whatever kept Kelly on top in a power struggle against dangerous men.
Amber made a face. “An hour, huh?”
“Yeah.”
She looked to the microwave clock and nodded. “I gotta bathe Jack, but afterward you want a beer? Watch some bad TV?”
“Sure. But let me deal with bath duty. You’re still in your work clothes.”
“Best sister ever,” Amber declared, and disappeared down the hall to change.
I wound up opting for a pop, but it was nice, sitting on Amber’s couch with Jack in his PJs between us, making fun of the people on a reality show. Reminded me of all the nights I’d spent babysitting Amber when I was a teenager. Hell, when I was eight. It made me want to drape my arm around her shoulders or stroke her hair, but those days were long gone. She was twenty-three, not five, drinking a beer instead of Hawaiian Punch. She was a mother herself now. A real mom. And my years spent raising her felt diluted by that distinction.
I glanced up at the sound of a vehicle approaching then going silent.
Amber was on her feet, jogging to the front window. “Blue truck?”
“Boo truck!” Jack said, rattling his own such plastic vehicle in the air. “This is my boo truck!”
“Yes it is,” I confirmed, smoothing Jack’s hair as I stood. I grabbed my keys and met Kelly as he was striding up the driveway. “Hey! Thank you.”
He shrugged, eyeing my car. “What’s it doing?”
“Nothing, sadly. I turned the key and it went ruhhr, ruhhr, ruhhr, then it made a worse noise, like a grinding squeal.”
“Get in and try to start it.”
But before I could—
“Hey,” Amber called from the steps, waving for us to come inside.
Oh Lordy. Did I really want Kelly meeting her and Jack? It felt too personal. But then that thought made me feel like a guy, all leery and compartmentalizing.
Kelly looked to me and I nodded, knowing it was way too rude to refuse. We headed for the house.
“I’m Amber,” she said as we reached the steps. She was using a toned-down version of the annoying, helpless-little-girl voice she employed when flirting. Find me adorable! it said, like our apple-cheeked faces didn’t scream the message loud enough. Protect me, you big, strong, capable man!