“Oh.” Dear Lord, I'm a freaking idiot. “They’re in the ignition.” He shakes his head and hops into my driver’s seat. Feeling like a total fool, I follow him to the open door.
“My dad used to do that.” I rub non-existent sweat off of my brow. “He’d hold out his hand, and I’d slap it. It’s instinct.”
“Mel,” he says, using my nickname. “It’s okay.” When he flashes those sparkling eyes at me, my heart skips a beat. “But it doesn’t look like your car is.”
“Oh no.”
“From the sound of it, your battery’s definitely dead. I’ll peek under the hood, but…”
“But what?”
“Well, if you’re not in any hurry?”
“Yes?” Jesus, I’m too eager.
“Maybe I can give you a lift to run your errands, and we can work on the car when I get back.” Being in close quarters with Creed Asher? As nervous as it makes me, the answer is yes. Yes, please.