Free Blue Crush by Jules Barnard Page A

“Shouldn’t I wait for the tow truck?”
    He shoves the phone back in his pocket. “No need. My friend will have it towed to his shop. We’ll swing by and drop off the keys. He’ll call when he figures out what’s wrong with it.”
    I glance at Nessa elbowing Zach playfully as they walk toward the beach, the paddleboard and paddle balanced easily above Zach’s head.
    This is all wrong. “Why is Nessa going with Zach?”
    “He lives near her. It’s easier this way.” Lewis gestures for me to get out of my car. I grab my tote, scoot out, and he closes the car door behind me. I follow him to the Jeep and he opens the passenger side door.
    I peer in, completely uncertain about this arrangement, and not sure how to get out of it. Spending more alone time with Lewis doesn’t seem wise. “What happened to your truck?”
    “This is my weekend car.”
    Oh, right, because he’s extremely hot, makes enough money to own two cars—one of them a brand-new Jeep—and he’s a Good Samaritan who rescues drunken women and destitute girls with broken-down cars.
    But he has a complicated not-a-girlfriend and that’s the one thing I can’t look past.
    Despite my hesitancy, I go with Lewis. We drop off my keys with the mechanic, and Lewis introduces me to his friend. The guy is nice and promises to pick up my car and contact me within the hour. If I end up getting it fixed through his garage, there’s no charge for the tow, which my savings account appreciates.
    The drive to my place is quiet. Neither Lewis nor I talk and I’m hyperaware of his every movement. A wide wrist draped across the top of the steering wheel, the elbow of his other arm resting on the center console so close to my side.
    “Cold?”
    I glance at the goose bumps on my arms.
    Lewis adjusts the air conditioning, but the chill that ran through me had nothing to do with damp clothes.
    Logic dictates I stay away from Lewis and the complicated relationship he’s in with Mira, but a part of me wonders, What if? Lewis helped me with my car and he took the blame for the paddleboard incident. He’s not a bad guy and technically he doesn’t have a girlfriend, so my initial judgment of him was off.
    We pull into my driveway. “Thanks for calling your mechanic friend, and for everything,” I tell him.
    He lets out a sigh; it’s forced and heavy, like something’s weighing on his mind. “You have my number. Call me if you need a ride, or for whatever.”
    That’s right. He typed his number into my phone so I’ll have a ride the next time I get wasted. Excellent.
    It’s not Lewis’s job to take care of me. I’m not his girlfriend or his friend—wait, am I? We’re more than acquaintances, and there’s the unspoken stuff that makes it feel like we’re much more than friends.
    “Okay,” I tell him and let myself out. The air is warm, but my clothes are wet and clinging. I beat a hasty retreat to the front door and hear Lewis’s car rev lightly, the gravel stirring behind me. I force myself not to look back.
    I walk inside and shut the door, slumping against the cool wood surface and closing my eyes. Today kind of sucked, with the dunking and my car breaking down, but it was also kind of amazing. Being with Lewis feels amazing, which is a problem. Even though he says she isn’t his girlfriend, I don’t understand what’s going on with them.
    I barely get my bearings when Cali comes at me like a hurricane, strawberry blond hair waving to and fro, making her head appear twice as large and fiery, like the look in her eye. “What the hell, Gen?” She points vigorously at the window. “What are you doing with that guy?”
    Holy shit. She’s gone off the deep end.
    Lewis and I aren’t dating. He gave me a ride home after my car croaked. Running into him was coincidental, though in all honesty, I was just allowing myself a moment of pride for not jumping him when my bodily instincts dictated it. “He’s not that bad, Cali. Simmer down. It’s not