Flirting with Disaster by Ava Catori, Olivia Rigal Page A

a moment of anxiety. Shit. I slowed down.  
    She politely waved, but it was awkward. Neither of us knew what to do. They were holding hands, but she quickly pulled her hand away on seeing me. I nodded, barely making the motion, and headed down the road.  
    I glanced into my rear view mirror, trying to make out what was going on between them. She didn't turn around or glance over her shoulder. She ignored the fact I was there. She couldn’t have cared less. Why did it bother me so much? So, she had a rich lover boy and “forgot” to mention that part to me. It stung more than I wanted to admit.  
    I decided to leave the paint on her car for another day. That was her problem, not mine. I had my own life to live, and things to do. She could wait.
    I cruised down the strip and pulled over on seeing Tony's squad car. We shared a few laughs, but he got a call. Some kids were having a bonfire on the beach. He needed to see if there was underage drinking, as someone had reported.  
    I headed home, not much more to do, and settled in front of the television with a beer. I should give Joanne a call. She was always lathering it on, looking for a repeat performance. She knew I was a no strings guy, and it would only be one night. I reached for my phone, and then put it down.  
    She wasn't what I wanted or who. I was so damn frustrated. Why did this woman have a hold over me? She was the enemy, here to tear us apart. She should’ve been the last thing I was thinking about. The harder I tried to push her out of my mind, the stronger she came back, taunting me. I couldn't escape the vision of our one-night stand.
    Bang! Crash! There was a loud noise outside that startled me awake. I must have fallen asleep on the sofa. I checked the clock over the television. It was just past midnight. It only happened once or twice, but there was scampering. I heard the sound of kids running, shoes stomping on the street. Through the window, I saw a bunch of kids with a bat. I shook my head. They were out slamming trashcans and mailboxes. I could have chased them, but I'd be a hypocrite. I played my own share of mailbox baseball growing up. Tony drove, and I'd slam a mailbox with a bat as I leaned out the passenger side of his car. I let the kids get far enough away and yelled after them. They wanted the chase. I remember my own heart beating faster than a hummingbird's wings as we got caught in the act. My dad was less than thrilled when they were able to name me and came knocking at the door.
    I was up now. I might as well take the paint off of her car and leave a note on Brad’s windshield with my garage’s address in case he wanted me to look at his car. If he didn’t then he’d have to drive back to Manhattan at snail’s space. They'd be asleep by now, or well, in bed. I parked a few houses down and walked over with the paint remover and a rag to buff it off. The lights were off. It was a quick enough job. I was there and gone in no time.  
    My phone rang, just as I was leaving. I looked at the caller ID. This wasn't good. Nobody called this late. "Ryder Bishop," I answered and then listened. "I'll be right there, thanks for calling." It was my father. He'd gone into the hospital with chest pains. I wouldn't cry. I wouldn't show my pain. I'd show up, be reminded of the times we visited my mother in the hospital, but I'd hold my anguish for later.  
    "They're keeping me overnight for observation," he said as I walked into his curtained off area of the emergency room. "I'm okay. It was just a little scare."  
    I quizzed him. "Have you been taking your blood pressure meds? Eating okay? What does the doctor think set you off?"  
    "It's all fine, nothing major. I'm under extra stress, but it will all work out." He tried to appease me, but I knew he was just as scared as I was.
    There was no hiding the truth. I knew what his source of stress was, or rather who it was. I sat in the chair beside his bed as we waited for him to be transferred