The Last One(10)

One side of her mouth lifted in a half-smile. “I was very convincing. I almost cried. Plus, the guy might have been Mr. Sexy Cowboy, but he wasn’t Mr. Smart Cowboy. He had more brawn than brain cells.”

“Nice, Lo.” I took another drink and hummed. “Well, thanks for getting me out of there and making sure I got home safely. I’m sorry if I was a pain in the ass.”

Laura raised her eyebrows. “So you don’t remember the rest of the evening at all? The part where your car died in the middle of a very dark, very lonely stretch of country road, and the auto service couldn’t send anyone out to us? And where we were rescued by a really nice guy, who towed your car to the nearest garage and then arranged for us to have another car so we could get home?”

My brows knit together. There was a vague familiarity about what she was saying. I could almost remember her leaning over me, saying something about a belt, and then walking along the side of a road and getting jettisoned into a truck. Then the rest of her words registered.

“My car? Where’s my car?” I slid out of the seat and ran over to the window. Or I sort of ran; I fast-walked, because my head still wasn’t quite sure it was going to stay on my shoulders, and I didn’t want to risk it falling off.

In the spot assigned to the sweet little blue Honda my dad had bought me before I started college sat an old ugly brown car. I turned back around. “What did you do with it?”

“Weren’t you listening to me? It’s at a garage in Burton. That’s the loaner. Calm down, Sam said it shouldn’t be too long. Boomer’s going to call me on Monday.”

“Who the hell is Sam? And what’s a Boomer?” I was hung-over and my car was stuck in some stupid little town in the middle of nowhere. I was entitled to be a little irritable.

“Sam is the wonderful man who stopped to help us last night. Boomer is apparently the owner of the garage, and the mechanic who’s going to make your precious car like new.”

“Hmm.” I turned back and flopped onto the couch. “Do we trust a man named after an explosive?”

“Since he was our one and only choice, we trust him implicitly. And we will thank him for his kindness when we go back to get the car this week. Or rather, you will. Since I had the fun of getting through last night while you were passed out in the front seat, you get to handle car retrieval.”

“Awesome. I can hardly wait.” I paused as another image flashed across my mind. “This Sam ... what did he look like?”

Laura shrugged. “I don’t know. It was dark out there, you know. Um, I think his hair was light brown, maybe almost blond? He was kind of tall. But then everyone looks tall to me. Pretty built, I guess. Why?”

“I think I sort of remember him.” But in my memory, I was looking up into the deepest brown eyes I’d ever seen, watching my own hand stroke the side of his face. With a pang, I recalled touching his skin, how the soft stubble had felt beneath my fingertips. Which was ridiculous, because if I couldn’t remember leaving the bar last night, let alone the car breaking down, how on earth could I still picture those eyes?

“Well, that doesn’t surprise me. He helped get you to the truck and then carried you to the Chevette. You were semi-awake then.”

I bit the side of my lip. “His name is Sam, you said?”

“Yeah. Why?” I heard her curiosity.

“No reason. I just want to know who has my car.”

“No, that would be Boomer, remember? Sam just drove us there. I don’t think you’ll see him again.”

I closed my eyes against the remainder of the headache still pinging under my forehead and stomped down the feeling of disappointment. Why would I care about not seeing a man I’d been nearly too drunk to remember? What did it matter if it felt like those brown eyes had seen deep into me, maybe the first guy ever to look beyond the surface? It meant nothing. He was just another male, one more in a world full of men I didn’t need.



I BEGAN TO FEEL more alive around two that afternoon. When Laura suggested that we log some studio time, I put on some yoga pants and a T-shirt and walked the few blocks to a tall brick building that used to be a department store but now housed classrooms and practice rooms. We had access to the art studios twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, but the weekends were still the busiest times. I was surprised to see the day’s sign-in list was virtually untouched when Laura and I arrived.

“Geez, are we the only losers who care about their craft today?” I printed my name on the line and handed the pen to Laura.

“Or maybe we’re among the few who didn’t hit the party of the year last night. Could be the rest of campus is still sleeping it off.” She smiled and handed the pen back to the security attendant. I followed her down the hall and into a nearly empty room.