Her Dirty Bartenders (Men at Work #5) - Mika Lane

1

Estella “Stell” Kline

“License and registration please, ma’am.”

Shit.

“Here you go, Officer,” I said with my best this doesn’t suck smile.

Fingers crossed he wouldn’t notice my registration was a bit… out of date. If he did, I was really screwed.

The state trooper, or highway patrol, or whatever it was they had in the state of Colorado, strolled back to his car, where he’d left the lights flashing for the enjoyment of every rubbernecker driving by, and settled in to do whatever they do with your identification.

I turned the volume back up on my Beyoncé station, and rested my head against the steering wheel. I’d been driving a good eight hours. Time for a break. Except this wasn’t the sort of break I’d planned on.

And getting rear-ended in traffic had also not been part of my plan.

Particularly not by a sports-car-driving douchebag who couldn't be bothered to apologize for plowing into the back of my Toyota Corolla. I supposed he felt my car wasn’t worth apologizing over, but dammit, it was the only car I had.

And it was the one that was supposed to take me from Philadelphia all the way to Los Angeles, where I was going to Start a New Life. One without the baggage of being a congressman’s daughter, and one out of the eye of the paparazzi always waiting for me to fuck up.

And one really far away from the asshole fiancé I’d just bailed on.

I squinted at the glare of the blinding cop car lights. “Marni!” I said to my BFF when she picked up on the first ring.

By my estimation, I was only fifteen minutes from her place. Didn’t it just figure that, in the last fifteen minutes of a long-ass and seriously boring drive, I’d get in a car accident.

“Stell! Heya, sweetie, are you close? I got the margarita fixings ready to roll—”

Out of the corner of my eye, Douchebag paced, looking back and forth between the damage to his car, and then mine.

It was clear to me he was going to be responsible for this mess, so he should be upset. Dude was going to end up spending some money paying for repairs on two cars.

Actually, I was upset too. I’d thought I could slip by with expired tags until I had the money to re-register them. But I had a feeling I was about to be called out.

“I just got in a fender bender,” I blurted, interrupting Marni’s margarita run-down.

She gasped. “OH MY GOD. Are you okay?”

I pictured her face creased with concern, her short, black Cleopatra-style hair bouncing around her face.

“I’m totally fine, Marn. I just have to wait for the state trooper to do his bit. I already got the insurance info from the asshole who hit me.”

I heard her rushing around in the background, keys jangling. “I’m coming right now. Tell me exactly where you are,” she cried as if I were bleeding to death, missing a limb, or needing the Jaws of Life.

“No, no, no. It’s not that serious. The back of my car is bashed in, but fortunately I can still drive. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Oh sweetie, that sucks. It just sucks. This was supposed to be a celebration of your arrival in Denver, dammit.”

I hope this wasn’t an indication of what was to come.

“Girl, I’m gonna need to celebrate more than ever, now,” I said. “Put that booze on ice. I’ll be there soon.”

The state trooper walked back up to my car.

“You’re a long way from Pennsylvania, Ms. Kline,” he said.

I nodded, stopping just short of telling him the details of my life plans. “Yes. I’m on my way to LA. Stopping in Denver for a few days to visit my BFF.”

His left eyebrow rose.

He didn’t know what BFF was.

“I see. Cross country road trip. So, Ms. Kline, can you step out of the car?”

I looked out my open window at him. He was cute as hell but practicing quite the mean face.

“Oh. Sure, Officer. Should I, um, turn my car off? Or just keep it running?”

What was the etiquette in situations like this?

He nodded. “Turn it off, please.”

I popped out of the car, smoothing out my miniskirt, but making sure it swung just right as I approached not only the trooper, but also the jerk who had rammed my car.

I crossed my arms because that’s what they were both doing. And furrowed my brow to look more serious.

“Here’s your ID back, Ms. Kline. Here’s yours, Mr. Stryker. Since there are no injuries, and you’ve