Page 9 of Icebound

As we’re checked for injuries, I message my sister to come to pick me up because her Audi needs to be fixed, and even though we’re feuding, she always answers my texts in less than a minute.

By the time the first responders deem everyone fine, I’m exhausted, but Gabriel’s okay, and that’s what matters. People are still crowding around the plumber while he inspects the black Tahoe, but he keeps glancing my way. I tap my foot, scanning the street for my ride.

“So, I think they’re going to need a tow too,” he says, standing. “Either that, or we’ll have to lift the car ourselves to change the tire.”

I point over my shoulder. “Should I just head to the gym for the next fifty years, so I can pack on a thousand pounds of muscle?”

Chuckling, he gives me a lopsided smile that turns him from sexy to endearing in less than a heartbeat. The throaty sound sinks into every crevice of my body before I can stop it from happening.

That’s one dangerous grin.

He needs to be careful flashing that smile around. Someone might accidentally end up naked on top of him.

“No weight-lifting necessary. We can use a car jack. Let me see if you’ve got one.” A dimple pops on his right cheek because, of course, it does.

Thankfully, he doesn’t have a matching set. It’s like whoever created him started to give him two dimples and then realized one was lethal enough.

He digs around my trunk. The streetlight's glow casts a gleam in his dark hair, almost making it look wet. Now, I’m imagining water streaming down his bare back in the shower, but I don’t want to objectify him just because his chiseled physique could rival the statues on campus.

I shake my head.

Hard.

Then again, so my brain gets the point.

He’s got this intense look that whispers temptations of nights spent tangled in bedsheets, but I’m done with men who look like fallen angels. I’m done with men in general. The next person I sleep with better be obsessed with me, so I don’t have a repeat of the Isaac fiasco.

He slams the trunk. “Alright, no car jack, but there are uh, ten boxes of condoms back there, which has me wondering what you get up to when you aren’t cutting into brains.”

“What?” I gasp. “Cutting into brains?”

He points his thumb at me, brows quirked. “Doctor, right?”

It takes me a moment to jump onto his train of thought. Then, I remember I told him I’m a resident because I’ve been on a medical drama kick recently. I was mostly joking because I’m still fifty-fifty on the plumber comment, but it’s utterly shocking he didn’t call me out since I look like I’m headed to a music festival.

He tosses the blue box back in the car, but I’m not going to admit there was a ten percent off sale if I bought ten boxes of condoms to a stranger. “We were doing a sex educational course at the hospital. The other resident brought cucumbers so we could roll on the condoms as a demonstration.”

“Not bananas?” he says wryly. “I feel like you’re setting some unrealistic expectations there with the cucumbers.”

He winks. I try not to frown, but men who wink at strangers should come with a warning label. I don’t say anything because what am I supposed to say? I’ve seen plenty of cucumber-sized dicks?

I haven’t.

Silence swells between us. It looks like his cheeks flush in the dim light, but it’s freezing out.

He coughs. “Alright, cucumbers aside… The tow company should be here soon to take your car to the shop to get rid of the dent. Do you need a ride? I should get home to feed Chicken, but I want to make sure you make it back safe.”

I quirk my head. “Is Chicken your… chicken?”

“No, he’s my cat,” he says like it’s obvious.

“You named your cat Chicken? Why? Does he eat chickens?”

He frowns. “Yeah, but I don’t know why it sounds so nasty when you say it like that. My sister chose the name because that’s all he’d eat when we brought him back from the shelter, but now I’m imagining him devouring a bloody chicken. He eats canned chicken like a normal cat.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” He shoves his hands into his pockets. “So, how about that ride?”