“I didn’t think you’d notice since your eyes are always glued to that screen.”

“Okay, Dad,” she says in a deep mocking voice.

Handing over the soda, I look at her, knowing one day, if she hasn’t already, she’ll face assholes who will treat her like that guy in there. That’s not a conversation to have now, but one we need to have soon. “Don’t ever go to this station.”

She looks up briefly, her eyes looking at the building behind me. “Ew. I wouldn’t anyway.” Good. “I don’t even know where we are.”

It’s true, this isn’t my usual store or gas station, but it’s close to downtown, so I made the detour. I reach over to ruffle my little sister’s hair, but she blocks me. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“Thanks,” she replies, pushing my hand away. “Long line?”

“Yeah,” I lie, knowing firsthand that sixteen-year-old girls can be ruthless when it suits them.

I start the Maserati, acting as casually as I can. We don’t even hit the street before she asks, “Did you at least get her number?”

The last thing my sister needs to hear about is how I hit on a woman with great legs, an even better ass, and a mouth I wouldn’t mind occupying for a night. And then got rejected. “You saw that?”

She’s at least polite enough to keep her laughter under wraps . . . until she can’t.

“Everyone saw it.”

“I didn’t ask for it.” Not a lie.

Her phone is now the least interesting thing in the car when she angles toward me. “Why not? It seems a shame to let all that flirting go to waste.”

“Eh,” I say, “I think I’ll leave it to the fates to decide.”

“If the fates have their way, you just met your soul mate.”

Surprised to hear the seriousness in her tone, I glance over at my sister. “Why do you say that?”

“Because you weren’t the only one flirting.”

I return my gaze to the drive ahead, but there’s no stopping the stupid grin on my face. I’m not sure about anything when it comes to the gorgeous girl I just encountered, but she’s got me thinking about her and this main character business.

I may not believe in fate, but I believe in myself. Wonder what it takes to be the hero of her story?

2

Lark Summerlin

My white shirt could have used one more pass with an iron, but it’s too late to worry. My skirt was in desperate need of more attention than I had to give it since I was late getting home. I can only hope Larry is too busy to notice when I get to work.

I step back from the mirror and brush my hands down the black fabric, still annoyed by the one crease down the center I couldn’t iron out, but I let it slide under the good day I’ve had so far. The cute guy was a nice distraction, even if he made me run late.