I'm Not Charlotte Lucas(5)
“He asked for my number,” Beth said, accompanied by an eye roll.
“And?” I pushed, knowing full well the story didn’t end there.
She eyed me. “And I may have agreed to a date for this weekend. But nothing is going to happen there. Seriously. Stop looking at me like that.”
Beth stood, getting away from my raised eyebrows and hardcore judging. Of course she gave the guy her number. Of course she was going out with him this weekend. And of course she’d end up dating him for six months only to decide that he just didn’t understand her, and he did this strange little humming sound when he drove, which used to be cute but was now obnoxious, and occasionally she caught him watching her all creepily . . . and then it was over.
This poor guy was about to fall head over heels for a woman who was a serial dater.
“Want to meet up tomorrow for mani-pedis?” she asked when I caught up to her. She gestured to my short, stubby nails. “You should probably take care of that before your big date.”
“Can’t. I’ve got to weed Vera’s garden so we can plant her tulips. She needs them in soon or they won’t bloom in time, I guess.”
Beth shook her head, pausing once we reached the door to her salon. “I think this date will be really good for you. Hey,” she called when I ignored her and started toward my car, which I’d parked on the street, “this could be the one!”
She was always saying that, but the frequency of it didn’t stop the hopeful sensation from squeezing my chest. Despite my hesitations, there was no way I could let Vera down by backing out. I was going on this date, whether I liked the idea of it or not.
A group of teenagers walking past me sniggered, the one on a skateboard giving me a once-over before nearly skating over my Birkenstocks. Ugh. Youths.
“Love you, girl!” Beth called.
I raised my hand high in the air in acknowledgment. The bell went off behind me as Beth went into work, and I slid into my car. Gripping the steering wheel, I watched the teenagers gather in a loose circle outside the salon while the kid with shaggy hair skated circles around his friends. One girl stood, hip popped out and arms crossed over her chest while the blond guy next to her slid his hand around her waist.
The other kids continued to laugh and joke, the one on the skateboard still riding circles around his friends, but the blond guy kept moving stealthily closer to his girl. She seemed not to care that he was touching her. She was clearly the queen bee, and he looked lucky to have her.
The kid on the skateboard flicked Queen Bee’s ponytail as he passed, and hand-on-her-waist guy sent him a brief scowl, but the girl acted like she hadn’t even noticed.
My gaze dropped to my fingers on the wheel, and I groaned. Beth was right; my nails looked horrible. I couldn’t go on a date like this. I calculated how long I had before I had to be at work.
If I hurried, I had enough time to cross town and get a manicure before I had to be at the bank.
Shoving my car into reverse, I backed out, checking over my shoulder when—
Thud.
Cold washed through my veins, and I felt the blood drain from my face. Eyes wide and mouth slack, I stared at the teenagers grouped in front of my car, my mind blank.
The queen bee looked at me as though I’d lost my marbles, and I shook myself clear of the haze, throwing my car door open and running around to the rear. Maybe it wasn’t so bad. Maybe that kid had lost his skateboard, and I ran over the thing. I could replace a skateboard. I could even pay him double for it.
I rounded my little Corolla and found the skater kid sprawled on the ground, his arm flung over his face and his skateboard rolling slowly across the street. The scene turned sepia in my mind, the slow-moving wheels of the skateboard punctuating dramatic music as I predicted this scene being remade by the producers of a real-crimes episode on late-night TV.
Oh no. This could not be good.
Falling on my knees, I braced my hands on the cool asphalt. “Are you hurt?”
He lifted his hand away from his face, appalled. “You hit me with your car, lady. Of course I’m hurt!”
“Lady?” I asked, rearing back. “I’m only twenty-six.”
His dark eyebrows rose, and I immediately felt foolish. I probably had ten years on this kid. Of course I seemed old to him. “Where does it hurt?”
His eyes slid shut. “Everywhere.”
“Like I-need-to-call-9-1-1 everywhere? Or like I-need-to-call-your-mom everywhere?”
He glared at me, and I realized I wasn’t getting anywhere with this kid anytime soon.
“Can you stand?” I asked.
He sucked a breath between his teeth, groaning loudly as he pushed himself up on the pavement. Nothing looked broken, and though he was wincing, he still had color in his cheeks. That had to be a good sign, right? Weren’t people typically pale and ghostly when they were severely hurt?
I helped him up and led him to the sidewalk. “Come on,” I said, glancing around for his group of friends but not finding them anywhere. “Let’s sit in here, and I’ll call your mom. She can decide how she wants to proceed.”
He glared at me again but allowed me to lead him into Beth’s salon. She was with a client, so I guided Skater Kid to a padded waiting chair and had him sit down. Pulling out my phone, I opened the keypad and held it out. “Can you type her number in for me?”