One Good Crash Read online

  "My purse." I hesitated. "Well, I mean the things inside it."

  My mom gave a derisive snort. "What are you planning to do? Put them in a paper sack?"

  I turned to give her an annoyed look. "Do you have a paper sack?"

  "No."

  "Then I guess that's not an option now, is it?" I turned back toward the driver, intending to push my way past him. But something made me pause. It was the sight of the stranger, striding past, heading toward the limo.

  I watched with the others as he yanked open the nearest back door, reached inside, and pulled out the purse.

  The limo driver called out, "Hey! You can't do that."

  But already, the stranger was heading back toward us, gripping the purse in one hand. He stopped beside me and held it out, saying, "You ready?"

  Was I ever. Nodding, I took the purse from his outstretched hand and dug out my belongings – a cell phone, a mostly empty wallet, and – oh, crap – a slender tampon that I'd tucked away, just in case my monthly came early.

  Damn it. Where was a nice paper sack when I needed it? Clutching my pitiful belongings in my right hand, I used my left hand to thrust the empty purse toward my mom. "There," I said. "It's all yours."

  With a hard sigh, she snatched it away and said, "Terrific. Now, just give me the dress, and we'll call it good."

  My jaw clenched. "I already told you, I'll give it to you later."

  "No." She straightened. "I need it now."

  What the hell? "For what?"

  "Well, if you're not coming with me, I'll need to find someone else." She gave my dress the once-over. "It is part of a set, you know."

  Oh yeah. I knew.

  And I would've known a lot sooner if only she hadn't been hiding her own outfit under a long coat until we were already on the road.

  From behind me, the limo driver said, "If you want, I'll get the dress."

  Horrified, I whirled back to face him. "What?"

  He gave a loose shrug. "I'm just saying, I'm here to help."

  To help with what? Undressing me? I almost laughed in his face. "Yeah. I just bet."

  From beside me, the stranger told the driver, "You wanna try? Go ahead. But you'll be flat on your ass."

  The driver laughed. "You think so, huh?"

  But the stranger wasn't laughing. His voice grew deadly quiet. "Try it and see."

  Oh, crap. This wasn't what I wanted. Already, I'd caused more than enough trouble, and besides, the limo driver had surely been joking.

  Right?

  Hoping for the best, I said, "Let's just go, okay?" I turned away, only to feel a beefy tug on the shoulder strap of my dress.

  With a gasp of surprise, I whirled back just in time to see the stranger haul back and clock the driver squarely on the jaw. My mom gave a little squeal, even as the driver staggered backward, blurting out, "What the fuck?"

  Next to me, the stranger gave a quiet scoff. "Quit bitching," he told the guy. "That was just a tap."

  I bit my lip. It hadn't looked like a tap to me. It hadn't sounded like one either.

  But then again, what did I know? I'd never seen a fist-fight, at least not in person. I didn't want to see one, especially now. Desperate to smooth things over, I said, "Let's just forget it and move on, alright?"

  Of course, my suggestion was promptly ignored by all of them, including the limo driver who looked ready to throttle someone. He lumbered forward until he was standing just outside swinging distance. He glowered at the stranger and said, "You sucker-punched me. Asshole."

  In a near panic, I said, "It can't be a sucker punch if he warned you." I turned and gave the stranger a hopeful look. "Right?"

  He grinned. "I like the way you think."

  His smile – so darned cocky – did funny things to my insides, and I felt an obscenely warm glow settle somewhere south of my stomach.

  It lasted for only a split second before the driver gave a guttural roar and plowed forward head-first toward the stranger.

  In a fast, fluid motion, the stranger turned to the side, leaving the limo driver to skim past and tumble forward of his own momentum. His hands and knees hit the pavement a split second before his forehead, and I couldn’t help but wince even as he yelped, "Son of a bitch!"

  He pushed himself up and whirled toward the stranger. "You did that on purpose!"

  The stranger shrugged. "You think?"

  The driver made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a growl. If he started foaming at the mouth, I wouldn't have been surprised.

  I yelled, "Just stop it, okay?" I gave the limo driver a pleading look. "We don't want any trouble." I looked to the stranger for confirmation. "Right?"

  His gaze met mine, and I swear I saw the hint of a smile. "I don't mind a little trouble."

  A nervous scoff escaped my lips. "Good thing, since I've caused you loads."

  Behind us, my mom demanded, "But what about me?"

  Huh?

  I turned to look. "What about you?"

  She gave me a frown. "You've caused me trouble, too, you know."

  Right. Because it had to be about her.

  What else was new?

  From a few feet away, the limo driver was glaring at all three of us. I half expected him to charge again, but he didn't. Instead, he zoomed in on my mom and said, "Screw this. I'm leaving. Are you coming or not?"

  She was still frowning. "But what about the dress?"

  The driver muttered, "Hey, I tried."

  Ignoring that disturbing tidbit, I turned to stare at her. "Seriously? You still want the dress?"

  Her lips formed a pout. "I'm just saying, since you're not using it—"

  "I am using it," I told her. "What do you expect? For me to run around naked?" As soon as the words left my mouth, I wanted to take them back. What was I? Some sort of glutton for humiliation?

  My mom was saying, "I think there's a tablecloth in the limo. You could use that."

  Well, I had to give her points for persistence.

  But she could persist all she wanted. I was done arguing. "Forget it." With that, I turned away, intending to march to the stranger's car with my head held high.

  I never made it.

  Why? Because I'd gotten only half a step when the limo driver made his move. He charged forward, looking to take the stranger by surprise. That didn't happen. As if the stranger had anticipated this all along, he stepped to the side and lifted a clenched fist, which the driver promptly ran into, face first.

  What a dumb-ass.

  The guy staggered backward, lost his footing, and tripped in a pothole, sending him sprawling sideways on the darkened concrete.

  All three of us stared down at the guy, groaning in the street. My mom scurried forward and said, "You're not hurt are you?" She glanced down at her watch. "Because we really do need to get going."

  And this is when deja-vu hit like a ton of bricks – because what did I see rounding the nearby corner?

  Headlights – all over again.

  Chapter 3

  I gave a little shriek even as the car roared closer. Without thinking, I plunged forward, wanting to alert the driver to the body in the road.

  A hand on my elbow yanked me back. I whirled to look. It was the stranger, saying, "It's fine."

  Tires squealed, someone screamed, and the headlights came to a screeching halt just a few feet away from where we all stood – well, except for the limo driver, who was still lying on the pavement.

  In cheerier news, he wasn't groaning anymore. So that was good, right? The headlights were nearly blinding, and I shielded my eyes as I stared down at the guy. He looked perfectly fine – a little traumatized maybe, but weren't we all?

  I gave him an encouraging smile. "You're okay, right?"

  My mom said, "Of course he's okay." She gave him a little nudge with her foot. "But you'd better get up," she told him. "We don't want to be late."

  In front of us, the headlights cut out, leaving spots dancing in my vision. I squinted in frustration,
and the new vehicle finally came into focus. It was another exotic sports car.

  What were the odds?

  The driver's side door opened, and the driver emerged looking like – huh? – almost an exact replica of the first stranger, right down to the tuxedo.

  I looked from guy to guy, wondering what on Earth was going on.

  As if reading my confusion, the first guy said, "My brother."

  "Oh."

  "And my car."

  I looked toward the first car, the one that had crashed however long ago. Just as I did, the guy's brother must've looked too, because he practically yelled, "My car – what the fuck?"

  The first guy shrugged. "I told you there was a problem."

  "But you didn't say you fuckin' crashed it."

  "Hey," the first guy said, "watch your language, alright?"

  "Fuck if I will," the brother said.

  The first guy turned to give me an apologetic smile. "Sorry. He's an asshole."

  The brother gave a hard scoff. "Yeah. And you'd be an asshole, too, if someone crashed your car."

  "You did crash my car," the first guy said. "Last month. Remember?"

  More confused than ever, I turned to look at the second sports car, the one that had just arrived. It looked perfectly fine to me.

  The first guy explained, "A different car."

  "Really?" I just had to ask, "How many cars to you have?"

  "A few."

  "How many is a few?"

  He gave it some thought. "Seven. No. Eight."

  I couldn’t help but laugh. "What? You can't keep track?"

  "Hang on," he said. "Are we counting trucks, too?"

  "Uh, yes?"

  "Then make it nine."

  I had no idea what to say to that. I heard myself mumble, "Well, I hope you have a big garage."

  While we'd been talking, my mom had been sidling ever closer to the new guy. When he turned to look at her, she batted her eyelashes up at him and asked, "How about you? How many cars do you have?"

  The guy looked at her for a long, cold moment before saying, "None."

  "But that can't be true." She pointed toward the crash. "I mean, you have at least one, right?" She edged a fraction closer and said in that breathy way of hers, "You won't believe this, but that's my absolute dream car."

  "Oh, I believe it," the guy said.

  My mom practically giggled. "I know, right?" She gazed up at him and said, "So maybe you'll give me a ride sometime?"

  Well, this wasn't embarrassing or anything.

  Reluctantly, I turned to look at the first guy, the one who'd been subjected to the same pickup line just minutes earlier.

  He was watching their exchange with an expression that I couldn’t quite make out. But soon, as if feeling my gaze, he turned his head in my direction and gave me the hint of a smile. From the look in his eyes, he was amused as hell.

  Well, that made one of us.

  Feeling suddenly self-conscious, I looked away just as my mom made another bid for a ride in the crashed car.

  The brother was saying, "Forget it."

  Her lips formed a pretty little pout. "Why? Because it has to be repaired?"

  "No. Because you're scaring the shit out of me."

  She gave him a playful swat to the arm. "Oh, please. A big, strong guy like you?"

  I blurted out, "Aren't you running late?"

  In unison, my mom and the brother turned to look. My mom's gaze narrowed. "Don't worry. We've got plenty of time."

  While we'd been talking, the limo driver had pushed himself up to a standing position. Looking decidedly disgruntled, he said to my mom, "That's not what you said a minute ago."

  My mom blinked. "What?"

  His expression darkened. "Yeah. And thanks for the concern."

  She gave him a perplexed look. "What do you mean?"

  "I mean," he said, "you didn't care that I was almost run over."

  "I did too care," my mom said. "If I didn't care, I wouldn't've screamed."

  The brother said, "Dude, man up. I saw you a block away."

  "Up yours," the driver muttered. And with that, he turned to go. Over his shoulder, he said to my mom, "I'm outta here. Get in. Or not. I'm done."

  My mom's gaze darted between the limo driver and the brother. She took a tentative step toward the limo, but then hesitated as if feeling suddenly light-headed. Her hand flew to her mouth, and she breathed, "Oh, no."

  I squeezed my eyes shut. Don't say it. Pleeeeease don't say it.

  She said, "I think I'm a little tipsy." She gave a light giggle. "Too much champagne, I think."

  Damn it. I opened my eyes just in time to see the limo driver pause in his tracks. He turned to face her and said with a loud sigh, "Fine. I'll help you to the car."

  My mom waved him off, saying, "Not you." She turned back to the brother and purred, "You."

  He gave a low scoff. "Nice try, nut-job."

  She froze. "What?"

  I blurted out, "You know what?" I turned to my mom. "You really should get going."

  The brother's gaze shifted from my mom to me and back again. "What are you supposed to be? Twins?"

  Once again, heat flooded my face. In all the commotion, I'd practically forgotten that my mom and I were dressed in identical outfits, right down to the same style of shoes.

  And yes, we did look alike, even aside from the clothes. It was freaky in a way. Every time I looked in the mirror, I saw my mom's face staring back at me. Maybe I should've felt lucky. My mom was undeniable beautiful. But in the back of my mind, I couldn’t help but wonder if it was a blessing or a curse.

  I mean, what had her looks ever gotten her except heartbreak and disappointment?

  The brother's question hung in the air. Were we supposed to be twins?

  My mom beamed up at the guy. "Do you want us to be?"

  Mortified, I took a slow step backward and tried to fade into the darkness. Of course, this would've been a ton easier if I weren't wearing a burgundy party dress and silver shoes.

  The brother looked at my mom for another long moment before turning to the first guy and saying, "So, what the hell happened to my car?"

  I spoke up. "Don't blame him. It was my fault, not his."

  The brother gave me a dubious look. "What, you were driving it?"

  "No." I hesitated. "I was—"

  "It's done," the first guy said, turning to his brother. "So forget it. You ready?"

  The brother scowled. "But what about my car?"

  "I called Maurice. He's on his way."

  The sound of the limo's horn made us all turn to look. The driver leaned his head out of the window and called out to my mom. "Are you coming or not?"

  Her gaze shifted to the brothers, and she pursed her lips. I could practically see the wheels turning. If she left now, she might never have another shot with either one of them. But the clock was ticking, and neither guy had given her any encouragement whatsoever.

  Hoping to nudge her in the right direction, I said, "He sounds like he means it. And isn't Dominic waiting?"

  "I guess," she muttered. "And then, with a sigh, she finally turned and began walking toward the limo. As she moved, she called out to the driver, "You are going to get the door, aren't you?"

  I half-expected him to tell her to get it herself. But he didn't. Instead, looking more disgruntled than ever, he got out and opened the rear door, and then waited while she climbed inside.

  A minute later, the limo squealed away, leaving me alone with the two brothers.

  Was I crazy?

  Probably.

  But as it turned out, I wasn't half as crazy as they were.

  Chapter 4

  The limo had just disappeared around the corner when the brother turned to me and asked, "So where's your ride?"

  I tensed. So he didn't know? "Um…"

  The first guy said, "We're her ride."

  The brother frowned. "In what?"

  The first guy pointed toward the car that had just
arrived. "My car. What else?"

  The brother made a scoffing sound. "That's what you think."

  Beyond humiliated, I asked, "Is there some sort of problem?"

  The first guy shot his brother a warning look. "No."

  "The hell there isn't," the brother said. "The car's a two-seater."

  The first guy gave a tight shrug. "Then you should've brought the Benz."

  "Yeah, but I didn't."

  "I know," the first guy said, "so you'll need to go on your own."

  The brother was glaring now. "In what?"

  The first guy pointed vaguely toward the wreck. "I dunno. Grab a van."

  "I'm not driving a fucking van," the brother said.

  I glanced around. There were three vans parked along the desolate city street. Two were fine. The third had been sideswiped by the brother's car. I said, "Don't tell me, you own the vans, too?"

  The brother said, "Does it matter?"

  I wasn't sure how to answer. Hell, I wasn't even sure if that was a serious question.

  Luckily, the first guy replied on my behalf. "Hey, I already told you, stop being a dick."

  "You did not." The brother looked back to me and said, "You were here. You hear him say that?"

  I froze. "Um…" I hadn't. But I hated the idea of saying so. Going for some sort of compromise, I stammered out, "Well…he told you to watch your language, so that's sort of implied, right?"

  The brother shook his head. "Wrong." He looked back at the first guy and said, "And I'm not gonna watch my fucking language either."

  The first guy smiled. "Then it's a good thing you're driving separately, isn't it?"

  "In what?" the brother asked for the second time. "And don’t say a van, because that's not happening."

  "Alright," the first guy said, glancing toward the crash. "Then drive your own."

  "I would," the brother replied, "if you hadn't smashed it."

  "Oh, quit bitching," the first guy said. "It's still in one piece."

  Was it? I turned to look. Just as I did, something on the far side of the car clattered to the pavement. What it was, I had no idea. Maybe a side-view mirror?

  After a long pause, the first guy said, "Make that two pieces."

  I wanted to snicker. And I wanted to cry. The mental whiplash aside, I hated that they were arguing, especially because this was mostly my fault. Hoping to broker some sort of peace, I said, "But you have other cars, right?"