Page 111 of First-Time Caller
Dan shakes his head. Angelo immediately returns to his workstation. Harvey lets out a whoop.
“While I sympathize with your continued string of horrendous luck, Lu, I am pleased as punch.”
I’m about to punch him right in the chest. “Don’t be too happy about it. Without me here, you won’t have anyone to run interference with you and Ms. Shirley.” I toss my dry noodle at his face.
“Looks like I’m not the only one withhorrendous luck.”
Me and my horrendous luck take to the streets.
Driving the tow truck feels like operating a cruise ship, especially along Baltimore’s narrow alleyways. The cobblestone streets make my body rattle, the radio is stuck on the smooth jazz channel, and the onion smell is worse than ever. By the time I make it to the intersection where I can see the blinking hazards of a car pulled to the side, I am officially done with the day. I’m not participating in the spaghetti-straw pull ever again. It’s biased against me and my god-awful luck.
Next time we’ll arm-wrestle. Or play rock paper scissors. Maybe throw a dart at the wall with pictures of our faces.
I yank the truck into park and hop from the driver’s side, then promptly almost face-plant into the middle of the street.
Because I know the body leaning up against the back of his car, arms crossed over his chest, hazard lights blinking orange against his silhouette. It’s the same body that had me pressed up against a metal shelf, his thigh wedged between my own, his breath hot and heavy in my ear. I’d know that body in my sleep, probably.
“Aiden,” I say, and his head snaps up. A devastating smile starts to work its way across his face.
“Lucie,” he says back, and I laugh.
ANNOUNCER:Tonight’s scheduled programming will be replaced with a live performance from the Baltimore Symphony Orchestra.Heartstringswill return tomorrow at its usual time.
Lucie slips from the driver’s side door of the tow truck in a pair of navy blue coveralls and I have to surreptitiously pinch the inside of my elbow to make sure I’m not in an exhaust-induced daydream. There were definitely some fumes . . . or something . . . when my car decided to go up in smoke. Maybe they altered my brain chemistry. Maybe they tipped me into an alternate reality. I didn’t think I had tow truck fantasies, but there’s something about Lucie walking toward me in steel-toed boots, a pair of gloves shoved haphazardly in her pocket.
“Of all the side streets in Baltimore,” she calls.
“Of all the tow trucks,” I shout back, a four-wheeler zooming past us with Usher blaring. When I called the nonemergency number and asked for a tow, I never considered that Lucie’s shop might be the one to send a truck. The universal forces I don’t believe in must be laughing at me.
She closes the space between us, eyeing my car and then me. “All good?”
I nod. As good as I can be with a car that started puffing out smoke while topping out at ten miles per hour on a crowded side street during the evening rush. Better now that she’s here.
She drops a clipboard on the roof of my car and props her hands on her hips. I am thoroughly distracted by the zipper of her coveralls. She’s only done it halfway, a gray shirt beneath.
“Aren’t you supposed to be at the station?” she asks, and I have to drag my eyes up from that tiny zipper. I want to dip two fingers into the opening of her uniform and tug her to me until we’re plastered together knee to neck.
I shake my head and then shake it again when her lips quirk up. “Not tonight. The BSO has a live performance and they stream it across multiple local channels. Maggie opts us in for it every year.”
I planned to spend the evening on my couch with a pizza, watching reruns ofThe Officewhile trying not to text Lucie. But given how the rest of the day has gone, I’m sure that would have lasted all of twenty-two seconds before I caved.
“Lucky you,” Lucie says, and it feels like a taunt. Like a dare dangled between us. Yeah, lucky me. Lucky, heartsick, painfully obsessed me.
“I’ve been told I’m a lucky guy.”
She snorts, her nose scrunching. Her long hair is twisted in a complicated-looking bun and the only thing I want to do is unravel it. I’ve been reduced to a series of compulsions around this woman. A lightning-strike sensation somewhere in the middle of my chest and in the backs of my knees.
A car lays on the horn as they maneuver around us. I hold up my middle finger without looking.
She tugs at my hand. “Put that away,” she says, amused. I shove my hand back in the front of my sweatshirt. She tips her chin up at my still-smoking Bronco. “What’s going on with your car?”
“It’s not working.”
Her smile tugs wider. “Yes, I can see that.”
I scratch at my neck, then toy with my thin gold chain. I drop my hand with a sigh. “It made a weird noise and started to get hot, so I pulled over to the side. The engine won’t start.”
“What was the weird noise?”
