Page 28 of Sexting My Best Friend's Brothers
“Can you jumpstart it?”
“Not with that level of acid buildup. You’ll blow the electrical system.”
Tessa groans, dropping her head back against the open hood. “Perfect. Just perfect. That’s exactly what I needed at ten o’clock at night.”
She pulls out her phone. “I’ll call an Uber.”
“No.”
She pauses, looking at me. “No?”
“It’s late,” I say. “Waiting twenty minutes is ridiculous. And standing alone in a dark garage is a security risk I’m not taking.”
“I have pepper spray,” she counters, patting her bag.
“I have a car,” I say. “I will take you home.”
Tessa hesitates. She looks at her dead sedan, then at me. I can see the wheels turning in her head. She’s trying to hide behind the “professional” barrier Ethan built, but the math doesn’t add up. She’s stranded, and I’m the only exit strategy.
“Asher, you don’t have to. It’s out of your way.”
“You don’t know where I live,” I point out. “It might be on my way.”
“Do you live in a cryptic underground bunker?”
“Penthouse,” I correct. “Downtown.”
“My apartment is in East Austin. That’s out of your way.”
“I prefer control,” I say. “I don’t like the variable of you sitting in a stranger’s car while you’re this tired. Get in.”
She studies me for a second longer. Then she sighs, defeated. “Fine. But only because my feet are killing me, and I really don’t want to wait twenty minutes for a stranger named ‘Dave’ in a Kia.”
“Smart choice.” I slam the hood of her car shut. “I’ll have a tow truck pick it up in the morning.”
“You don’t have to?—”
“Get in the car, Tessa.”
The inside of my Audi is a sanctuary. Leather, silence, and the soft blue glow of the dashboard.
Tessa sinks into the passenger seat with a groan of pure pleasure. “Oh my god. Heated seats?”
“It’s sixty degrees out,” I say, merging onto the street.
“It’s for my back,” she murmurs, closing her eyes. “My ergonomic chair isn’t as ergonomic as advertised.”
I glance at her. In the sodium streetlights passing by, she looks wrecked but beautiful. Dark lashes against her cheeks, the rhythmic, exhausted cycle of her breathing.
“You worked late,” I say.
“I had to finish the persona mapping,” she says without opening her eyes. “If we’re going to pivot the brand voice to ‘connection,’ I need to understand who we’re connecting with.”
“And? Who are we connecting with?”
“Lonely people,” she says softly.
I grip the steering wheel tighter. “Excuse me?”
