His lips part and he just stares at me for a second. “Are you kidding me?”

I shake my head slowly. “I had a patient scheduled. I didn’t want to be late.”

It all sounds ridiculously inadequate when I say it out loud.

“Jesus.” He cracks his knuckles. “You are really something. All that over a stolen parking spot. You’re unbelievable.”

I’m scared to say anything else. Usually, I’m extremely skilled at knowing what to say to make somebody else feel better. It’s my job, after all. But it’s never meant quite this much. I try to keep my mouth shut, but I can’t help myself. I finally blurt out, “Do you hate me now?”

His eyebrows shoot up. “Hate you?”

“Well…” I squeeze my sweaty hands together. “You seem like you’re angry with me. And you’re barely looking at me.”

“Yeah…” He sighs. “I’m not going to lie—I’m not thrilled with you right now. But I see why you wanted to get rid of that video. And… I’m glad I could help you.” A lopsided smile creeps onto his face. “Also, it’s good to know that you’re not so perfect either.”

I return an equally crooked smile. “I never claimed I was.”

“Okay, now that we’ve settled that…” Luke’s eyes flicker in the direction of my office. “Let’s get this asshole back to his car.”

_____

I’m in an incredibly good mood as I make the drive back from EJ’s house in my Lexus with Luke in the passenger seat. About an hour ago, he assisted me in loading EJ into the passenger’s seat of his Porsche. He insisted on being the one to drive the car with EJ inside, because he didn’t want me in there in case EJ woke up during the half-hour drive. Although part of me feels like he just wanted an excuse to drive a Porsche.

When we reached EJ’s house (paid for by his parents), Luke parked the Porsche in the driveway. He left EJ passed out in the passenger seat, then he got into my car—and now we’re on our way home.

I have the music on in the car—an opera I went to recently in the city—the window is down, and the air feels wonderful on my face. For four months, EJ had been holding that horrible video over my head and using it to manipulate me. Now I’ve taken care of the problem. All thanks to Luke.

If the opera were in English and I knew the words, I would sing along.

Luke is strapped into the passenger seat, absently staring out the side window. He did absolutely everything I asked of him, and although he wasn’t thrilled about it, he fixed my problem. As I study his profile at a red light, I feel a rush of affection.