Penthouse Prince(36)
“Of course. Should I take a look?” I tip my chin toward her car to keep myself from looking at her legs again.
She nods. “It’s just a dead battery, I think.”
“I have jumper cables.” Turning, I open the trunk of my car and pull them out.
“Sorry about dragging you out here on such short notice,” Corrigan says behind me.
“It’s not a problem.”
After I hook up our batteries and I start my car, I let it run for five minutes, during which I watch Corrigan waiting in her driver’s seat. Getting paranoid that I’m staring too much, I look away, look back, and repeat.
Finally, I yell, “Try it now.”
Corrigan’s engine struggles, then kicks over and growls. She sticks her head out the window to give a celebratory whoop. “It worked!”
“Great. Now just sit tight and keep it running for at least half an hour. I’ll take these back.” I turn off my ignition and get out to unlink our cars.
“Thank God. I didn’t know what I was going to do.” She flashes me a relieved smile that makes my stomach do gymnastics.
The back of my neck feels hot and I rub it, feeling both pleased and awkward. “Seriously, it was nothing. Consider it payback for saving my ass with Grier while Mom was in the ER.” I finish and loop the cables over my arm.
She shakes her head with a wry heh. “That time doesn’t count. You paid me actual money for that, so you don’t need to do me any favors.”
I inhale deeply and take the leap. “Well, if you really feel indebted, maybe you could come over and hang out tonight? We’ll order a pizza, do some finger-painting with Grier . . .”
Her face falls into a frown. “I can’t. I have my date.” Her tone is a little irritated, but it’s mixed with something else. Regret? But that’s probably wishful thinking.
“Right,” I mutter.
Of course. I knew that was happening. I haven’t been able to forget it for a minute since she told me.
Some stupid, desperate part of me was hoping that the guy got food poisoning or something and canceled at the last minute. Or that she’d woken up one morning and thought, Actually, I changed my mind. I’m totally cool with that little ripping-my-high-school-heart-out incident now—let’s go on a date!
Corrigan gives me a small, almost shy smile. “But thank you for rescuing me. I really appreciate it . . . and you.”
“Anytime,” I say, and mean it.
? ? ?
“Sorry about that,” I say as I sit back down at our table. “I hope Grier didn’t make too much of a fuss.”
Gail smiles. “No problem. She was a perfect angel.”
In a tone that pretends to be innocent but is blatantly laden with meaning, Mom says, “Seems like you care a lot about that girl.”
Downplaying it, I shrug. “She needed help, so I helped. It was just the decent thing to do. Stop reading so much into every random detail of what happens between me and Corrigan.”
Mom coolly raises her eyebrows. “Yes, helping is decent, and I’m proud I raised a good boy who doesn’t think twice about it. But if it were anyone else, would you have immediately dropped everything and rushed over like you just did? Or would you have just paid for a repairman to go out and handle it?”
Her words knock the wind out of me. I protest weakly, “Maybe I would’ve for a total stranger, but there’s a big difference between a stranger and what you’re insinuating. I’d do the same for Dak or any other friend.”
But we both know Mom sees straight through me. Although her logic doesn’t hold up, her intuition is spot-on.
There’s no arguing with her or with myself. I’m in so far over my head, it isn’t even funny.
15
* * *
CORRIGAN
Ouch!
I drop my curling iron into the sink with a clatter, shaking out my hand to cool off the burn. When was the last time I did my hair, and why did I think I could pull off these loose waves without a tutorial? Those are two questions I may never have the answer to.
One thing I do know for sure, though. Tonight is the night the pale yellow wedges I impulse-bought last summer come out of their hiding spot in the back of the closet. Why? Because for the first time in half an eternity, I have a date. And just because my day began with a zapped car battery and an emergency rescue mission from my ex-slash-boss doesn’t mean it can’t end on a higher note.
I pick up the curling iron again, sectioning off a portion of hair and wrapping it around the barrel. But when I pull the iron away, it looks like someone tried to feed my hair through a jammed copy machine. Awesome.
So much for looking like a ten tonight. I guess I’ll just have to pull out my straightener to get myself back on track. If only that track was heading toward Lex’s place for pizza night with Grier, not toward a mediocre Italian place with a guy I hardly know.
Before my flat iron has warmed up to a usable temperature, my phone buzzes with a calendar reminder. Just thirty minutes until I’m supposed to be at the restaurant.
I finish my hair and take another glance in the full-length mirror. The white sundress falls to my knees, and I straighten it over my hips. With a sweep of pink lip gloss and a final shot of hairspray, my confidence is renewed.