Wishes in Her Eyes Read Free

the warm spring night in search of whoever, but I have to keep my hourglass figure from turning into a circle. So here I am dismounting the treadmill and sweating like a whore at bible study. With my workout finished, all I want to do is go home, take a hot bath, and plop in front of the tube. After walking out of the health club and getting in my car, I realize that all I have to eat at home is a science project that had once been a couple of slices of pizza and half a bottle of wine. Shit! That means I’ll have to go to the store to get something for dinner. I really don’t want to be in public in my less than appealing physical state, which consists of being hot, sweaty and stinky. Along with my non-springtime-fresh feeling, the air smells of rain and the sky is lighting up like a Christmas tree. Great.
    Stopping at the closest grocery store, hoping to just run in and run out, I dash for the frozen food section. I peruse the television dinners, trying to decide on gourmet mac and cheese or chicken nuggets. Finally I say to hell with it and grab a single-serve lasagna. A quick run by the bakery for French bread and I’m on to the register.
    Having safely made it in and out of the store without being seen by anyone I know, I sprint to my car. As I reach for the door I notice something doesn’t look quite right. One look down and I see the problem—a flat tire. “Are you fucking kidding me?!” I say to myself. I throw my food in the car, slam the door, open the trunk and my heart sinks. No spare. One of things I said I’d get around to doing. Slamming the trunk down, I mumble, “Shit! Now what?” At that precise moment the sky opens up and the rain comes. At first an annoying sprinkle, then a determined drizzle, and finally a deluge of mythical proportions. All in a matter of minutes. Un-ladylike words stream from my mouth.
    As I stand there drowning and wallowing in pity, a deep “Need some help?” comes from behind me and I nearly jump out of my skin. I turn around and plow right into the chest of Stone Masterson, nearly knocking him to the ground.
    “Umfp. Sorry,” I stammer, trying unsuccessful to look composed. Bulldozing him down like a Kansas City Chiefs defensive end isn’t exactly how I want to behave in front of my crush.
    “No problem. That’s what I get for scaring a beautiful woman at night in a thunderstorm.”
    Did he just say “beautiful?” Naw. Must be the storm distorting his words.
    “Huh? Oh, uh, yeah. You scared the shi... uh, stuffing out of me.”
    “Where’s your spare?” Stone asks, taking a quick assessment of my car.
    “Where’s my what? Oh, my spare... heh, heh, well, um. That’s a good question. Uh, what I mean is... I don’t have a spare. That is, I mean, I meant to take care of that, but it seems I never got around to it.”
    What the hell is wrong with me?
I sound like a Twilight fan that has just met Robert Pattinson with all the sputtering I’m doing. I’m usually pretty calm, cool and collected around men, even men I’m attracted to.... Not so much with Stone.
    While I’m still trying to figure out why I’ve gone all dumbass, I realize that Stone is laughing. Not just a chuckle, but a big belly laugh. I mean he laughs until he’s holding his side.
    I’m usually good at laughing at myself, but my stupidity at not having a spare has kinda zapped my humor.
    Noticing that I’m giving him the stink eye, he says, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to laugh at you. I’m not laughing at you, it’s just that this same thing happened to me when we had that crazy storm last month. I was already running late, I didn’t have a spare and I’d forgotten my cell phone at home. I hit the trifecta of bad luck that night. I was so pissed at myself I cussed a blue streak so loud that people started to stare at me.”
    Ah, so he has stupid moments too. That makes me feel a bit better. “You just missed my blue streak. If you’d been here twenty seconds earlier,