Blindsided. Leslie LaFoy

Today had been lousy pretty much all the way around. She’d had enough. So the bed was lumpy. She couldn’t remember the last time it hadn’t been.

      Cat went up the side of the car, accepted the keys from him and slipped into the driver’s seat with a “Thank you,” that sounded every bit as exhausted as she felt.

      It wasn’t until she’d cranked the engine over that he said, “I’ll see you at the rink at five sharp,” closed the door with a huge pop and walked off toward his own car.

      Tired, embarrassed, and not at all certain whether Logan agreeing to coach was good news or bad, Cat backed out of the space and headed for the street. A quick check in the rearview mirror relieved her conscience. His headlights were on and his car was moving; he wasn’t stranded. She turned west and checked the rearview again as she stopped for the red light at Emporia. No Lexus headlights, no Logan behind her. Just a battered old pickup truck. Good. She was so ready to be alone.

      The light turned green and she pressed the accelerator. The Jeep went nowhere. With a sigh, Cat slammed it into Park and turned the ignition off and then on again. The engine roared back to life, the choke wide open. She closed her eyes, clenched her teeth and tried to kick the revs back down into the normal range. As always, it didn’t work. The pickup truck driver honked his horn. The tires of the Jeep squealed as she put it in drive and shot forward. They squealed again as she took the corner at Douglas and Main and headed for the highway.