“I…I should really learn how to change a tire,” I manage. Jake stands there with his hands on his hips, eyes glinting as he holds my gaze for a few beats too long. I can’t help it; I back up another step. Then he smiles again—more wolfish than charming this time—and says, “It’s easy, Phoebe. All you need is practice.”
Did he make her get a flat so he could change it and have an excuse to interact with her? Weirdo
