Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 82893 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82893 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
“You drove from Wyoming to Oregon without your wipers working?” he asks, sounding angry or annoyed. I can’t tell the difference—that, or he’s both at the same time.
“I didn’t need them.”
“Everyone needs working fucking wipers, Elora.” He moves to the right lane on the highway as the rain picks up.
“It didn’t rain.”
“Fuck me,” he grumbles, taking the exit for a town called Eureka.
“I never needed them.”
“Thank fuck for that.”
“Don’t be mad.”
“Babe.” He looks over at me as he stops at the red light. “I’m not mad. I’m pissed you’d do something so fucking reckless.” The light turns green, and he turns right, then pulls into the first available parking lot.
“The rain is already letting up.” I motion to the windshield, and I know that was the wrong thing to say when he turns to glare at me.
Whatever. The rain will pass, and we will be on our way.
I dig my hand into my bag of Cheetos.
Shaking his head at me, he grabs his cell phone and starts typing. Two minutes later, he drops it into the cupholder and puts the van in reverse.
“Where are we going?”
“To get the wipers fixed.”
“They can’t be fixed.”
“Anything broken can be fixed, Elora,” he mutters, pulling out of the parking lot.
“Except my wipers. The guy I got my van from said he tried to fix them and couldn’t.”
“Was he a mechanic?”
“I don’t know. He wore those overall thingies, so maybe.”
“Overall thingies?”
“You know… the jumpsuit that astronauts and mechanics wear.”
“So, he could have been an astronaut instead of a mechanic?”
“Maybe we should stop talking,” I suggest, even though it’s not so much a suggestion since he’s annoying me.
“Sure,” he mutters, turning into a parking lot littered with cars, most of them looking like they haven’t been driven in the past ten years. Parking, he starts to shove his door open but stops and looks over at me when I unclick my seat belt. “I’ll be right back.”
“I can come.”
“I got it.” Pushing the door open the rest of the way, he gets out and jogs toward the door of the shop, disappearing inside as the rain starts to fall harder.
Great. So much for the rain slowing down or stopping altogether.
Munching on my Cheetos, I watch through the blurry windshield as Roman and a man his height—with bulky muscles covered in tattoos, wearing a T-shirt and his jumpsuit sleeves tied around his waist—come out of the building together. The two of them stop at the front of the van. The guy fiddles with the wipers that are still in stunted motion and starts to talk while Roman stands with his hands planted on his hips and listens, his frown deepening by the second.
Placing the bag on my lap aside, I wipe my hands with a sanitizer wipe, then push open the door. Since I’m wearing just a thin T-shirt and jean shorts, the rain soaks through to my skin, causing goose bumps to spread down my arms and legs.
“What’s going on?”
Roman’s eyes drop to my chest and narrow. I don’t need to look down to know my nipples are hard. I feel them pressing against my bra. I cross my arms over my chest.
“I was just telling your boyfriend that, with the way the wipers are moving, it’s likely the motor. And in order to fix that, we gotta take apart the whole dash.”
“You have to take the dash apart?” I don’t correct him on the boyfriend comment.
“Unfortunately, and it might take me a day to track down a new motor if the one you’ve got can’t be fixed.”
I look at Roman when he unzips the hoodie he’s wearing over his shirt. Taking it off, he walks over to me and wraps it around my shoulders. Uncrossing my arms, I slip them into the long sleeves.
“We should check the weather. Maybe it will clear up,” I tell Roman, and he gives me a look filled with contempt, then glances at the guy standing across from us.
“We’ll get a hotel. Do you know of one nearby?”
“Roman,” I warn, but of course, he ignores me.
Well, that’s not exactly true. He wraps his arm around my waist.
“There’s a hotel right down the road,” the guy tells him. “Though, I’m not sure they’ve got any rooms. Everyone seems to be here in town this week.”
“If I bring the van back in an hour, can you start working on it?”
“Most likely.” He shrugs one bulky shoulder, which looks slightly comical given his size.
“All right, I’m going to get us checked in somewhere, and then I’ll be back.”
“Sure thing. See you in a bit,” the guy says, turning toward the shop.
“Come on.” Roman places his hand on my lower back and leads me to the passenger door, opening it.
“We’re not actually going to a hotel, are we?” I ask, looking at him as I climb up into my seat.