Page 7 of Daddy's Pride
“I want to.”
He bites his lip. “Okay.”
I collect my torch to light the way as we walk up the drive to the road. I unlock the gate and swing it open in case it’s possible to move his car. It would be safer on the drive than on the edge of the road. Cars zoom along this road far too fast, especially at night.
His car is tucked against the bushes. I swing the torchlight over it. Two things become immediately obvious: the front passenger-side tire is completely flat, and someone has clipped the driver-side wing mirror.
“Fuck.” He tugs his hands through his hair and clasps them at his nape.
“I take it your wing mirror wasn’t hanging off when you left your car?”
“No. Wait. Does this mean I’m going to end up with three sets of bad luck? Are nine shitty things going to happen to me?” His voice and expression are so forlorn I want to hold him.
“No.”
“How do you know?”
“I don’t believe in stuff like that.” And while he’s with me, I’m not going to let him suffer any more bad luck.
He might not be a boy, but I am a Daddy, and all my protective, caring instincts are in overdrive right now.
I inspect the other side of the car. The tire is completely burst. I could push the car onto the drive, but I’d ruin the rim in the process.
“Do you have a spare?”
“Uh, yeah, but I’ve still got no petrol.”
“We’ll worry about that in the morning. Pop the boot. I’ll put the spare on, and we can push your car off the road.”
“I know how to change a tire.”
I smile. “I’m sure you do, but I want to do it for you.”
He presses his lips together and releases a strangled sound. “Well, how can I refuse an offer like that? Maybe my luck is changing after all.”
“It is.”
I change the tire while he holds the torch. Given how tight the nuts are, I doubt he would have got the wheel off alone. I return the tools to the boot and dust my hands. Not that it removes the grime from them.
“You steer. I’ll push.”
“Lucky me. I get to watch you flex your muscles.”
I’m not imagining that flirty comment. “You like muscles?”
“I like muscly men. Show me how strong you are.” He gets into the car and grins at me from the driver’s seat.
I put my hands on the bonnet.
I wait until he’s disengaged the hand brake, and push. It doesn’t take long to get the car off the road and through the gate. While he retrieves his belongings from the boot, I lock the gate. Should I offer to carry his rucksack? He puts it on before I can get my tongue to work.
“Why Scarborough?” I ask as we walk toward the house.
“I needed a week off.”
“Work?”
“Mostly, but off everything, really. I have happy childhood memories of Scarborough, so I figured it was as good a place to go as anywhere.”