“If you would tell me what kind of parking spot you’re looking for, perhaps I can help,” Gia offered from the passenger seat. He nodded, returned her curious smile, and hit the gas. The force knocked her back into the seat as if it were a rocket launch. His cheeks burned with embarrassment. “Sorry.” “No worries,” she said with all the genuine warmth and sweetness of a pile of honey on a fresh-from-the-oven biscuit. “It looked more like whiplash than it was.” She looked down and wiggled. “I think this seat must be loose or something. It moved.” Rocky gripped the wheel tighter. If he were alone he’d be banging his head on it until the blissful haze of unconsciousness set in. His last lucid thought would be how Max was going to die a slow, painful death for not bolting that seat in properly. For some reason, this beautiful intelligent woman had willingly let him pick her up for a date. She was here. In his clunker. Looking and talking like a real girl and not a camp counselor.
