Wait With Me (Wait With Me, #1)(53)

He exhales heavily. “Does this mean we can we go back to being friends again? You’re like one of four people I actually like in Boulder. Losing you would be a huge deficit in my social life.”

“Of course, we’re friends.” I smile and shake my head. “Because there’s no way in hell I’m going to start cleaning my own gutters.”

He laughs and rakes his hands through his hair in frustration. “I’m hoping you can work out this thing with Miles. I’m tired of being Lynsey’s and your damn handyman. Especially because I’m not fucking handy. I’ve told you both this. If you need help with investments, I got you. But pretty soon, I’m going to start drawing the line at favors that make me sweat.”

“Yeah, yeah…whatever, Dean.”

With double smiles, we clink our coffee mugs and get back to being exactly what we were always meant to be. Just friends. Great friends.





I’m stir-crazy this week at the shop. Something is off between Mercedes and me, and I can’t quite put my finger on it. She’s been in and out of the comfort center. We do our regular flirting thing where I come in and eat cookies, and she asks me about my day. It’s nice. It’s friendly. But it’s limited. She hasn’t asked me to help her with any more book research, and I guess I’m just wondering what she’s waiting for.

Our camping trip was amazing. More than amazing. Spending a full twenty-four hours with a person and not wanting to kill them means you’ve really found a true friend. And that’s how I see her still. A friend. So why does it feel like she’s still holding a part of her back from me?

I head up to the counter to find Sam and see if he wants to go get a drink this weekend. I need to talk this shit out, so I’m not fucking up vehicles or losing any fingers this week with my wandering thoughts.

Sam’s standing at the end of the long, high top counter where the customer service agents all check people in. I sidle up next to him, my coveralls still on, but not so dirty that I felt like I had to take them off first.

“Hey,” I say, and he looks up from his computer.

“Hey, man,” he says with a smile that’s practically hidden under his red beard.

“What are you doing this weekend?” I ask as he pulls the Bluetooth device out of his ear.

“Nothing,” he replies with a shrug. “Beers?”

I nod and slow blink.

“That bad?” he guesses.

I inhale deeply and finger the piece of red licorice behind my ear. “I’m just…in a rut, and I don’t know. I need something.”

“I’ve been seeing Mercedes in the comfort center,” he says, clearly already picking up where my mind is at. “Is she here today?”

I shake my head. “I haven’t seen her yet.”

He furrows his brow. “You guys good?”

I shrug. “I think so? I don’t know. That’s partially why I need a drink.”

“Say no more,” he replies with a congenial smile.

A light reflects off the front door as two blond guys walk into the reception area. They look about the same age as Sam and me. Maybe a little younger. They also look like they do nothing but lay out because their tans are way too perfect.

But above all that, there’s something about the way they hold themselves as they walk that has my alerts pinging. I decide to stick around and hold my spot at the counter.

Sam is busy typing something into his computer when the guy in a pink polo flicks his keys up on the counter. “I have a flat. I need it fixed.”

I cringe at his rudeness and slide my gaze to the other guy who’s decked out in a bright, neon green golf shirt. It’s fucking blinding.

Sam smiles politely at Pink Polo. “Okay, what’s your name and what kind of car are we talking about?”

“Why does that matter?” the guy snaps. “It’s a tire. Just need it repaired quickly because I have a tee time to make.”

The guy’s condescending tone has me shifting out of my leaned position to stand at full height. Green Shirt eyeballs me.

Sam is not the least bit put off as he smiles around his beard and replies, “We just need to know if you’re in the system. Because if for some reason your tire can’t be repaired, we can prorate it with your warranty to get you a new one at a discount.”

“Why could my tire not be repaired?” Pink Polo snaps.

“If there’s a puncture in the sidewall of the tire, those are unfixable, unfortunately.” Sam offers an apologetic look.

“What a rip-off,” the guy snaps. “What kind of business are you running?”

I glance down at this asshole’s shoes and know instantly money isn’t the problem here. Privilege is.

“Hey brah, who’s that chick?” Green Shirt asks, leaning over the counter closer to me as if we’re a couple of bros or something.

I look over at where he’s gesturing to Alexa who works two computers down.

I shrug noncommittally. “She’s a customer service rep.”

Green Shirt smiles. “Perfect, we’ll take her.”

Sam clears his throat. “I’m afraid you don’t get to pick. And you’ve got me already.”

Pink Polo apparently wants to pick up where Green Shirt left off. “I think we could pick if we really wanted to.”