Now, I was going to deal with it.

And give my thank-you to Joker.

This made me nervous, so I didn’t think on it as I made my way to Broadway, down Broadway, and straight to Ride.

I was still not thinking on it as I pulled in and drove past the parking spots where you’d park if you were going into the store.

I headed straight to the enormous structure at the back that had three big bays.

The garage.

I drove right to one that looked mostly empty and stopped outside it. I threw open my door, threw out my cute sandaled foot and heaved myself out.

Before I could move to the back seat to grab the pie, two men came out from the bays. One was tall, dark-haired, lanky-(but hard)-bodied, carried a clipboard, and had eyes on me. The other was tall and stoop shouldered, was wearing greasy jeans and an oil-stained tee, and also had his eyes on me.

The greasy jeans guy was your normal, everyday guy.

The lanky guy was incredibly handsome.

“Hey!” I called on a little wave, a bright smile, and moved to them.

They both watched and, normally, this wouldn’t make me feel strange. Dad had told me I was beautiful since I could remember. Mom had done the same thing. Aaron had said it so many times since we met and started dating when we were freshmen, I believed he believed it (until recently) and I believed in me.

I knew I wasn’t ugly. More importantly, I knew back then I was loved.

Now, not so much.

Now, I was a size bigger (two in pants), had a baby pouch, a big bottom, and a husband who dumped me for a size 0 model. I also had grown-out highlights that didn’t look great.

No cute dress or cute shoes were going to cover any of that.

I’d known appreciative glances. I’d had them since I could remember too.

Now, I wondered what both of those men thought, me, twenty-five (almost twenty-six), dumped, a single mom (not that they knew that but I felt like I wore that knowledge on every inch of me), climbing out of an old, worn-out car, wearing a flirty but cheap dress and cute but cheap butterfly shoes that at that moment felt stupid and, worse, desperate.

I should have worn jeans.

No.

I shouldn’t have come at all.

“Yo,” the lanky one called.

I got close. “Uh… yes, yo.” He grinned. It was highly attractive. I ignored it and I carried on, “I’m Carissa. Carissa Teodoro. A couple of days ago—”

The lanky guy’s head jerked and he interrupted me. “Joker’s girl?”

I shut my mouth.

Joker’s girl.

Why did that sound so nice?