Winner, winner, chicken dinner! Yes, today’s Wednesday Words took top honors in last week’s #ThursdayThreads competition. I’ll admit that at first, due to the phrasing of the prompt, I had to think about what to write. This actually is fun. After some lengthy pondering, I came to the conclusion that the scene would be totally unrelated to either of the current WIPs. Which is okay. Iffy and I do this more often than we should. Still, with the aid of Scrivener (my writing software), this is way easier. Plus, as I teased on FB Saturday, new character for one of the other Moonstruck Mafia books. The prompt: **“I wasn’t sure if he breathed.”**
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Brakes screamed like a victim in a teen slasher movie. Even with my reflexes, I couldn’t avoid the damn car hurtling toward the crosswalk. The bumper on the passenger side hit me. I took flight. F*ck me. This would hurt when I landed. It did, and I blacked out.

Sirens. I think. It could have been just my ears ringing. Maybe. Darkness swallowed me again even as I knew I had to get up and walk away. No cops. No ambulance. Couldn’t risk the exposure.

“I wasn’t sure if he breathed.”

The voice tugged me back to reality. Melodic. Accented. Very close. I opened one eye. Barely.

“I…I was afraid so I have not touched him. He has not moved. I watched carefully. I…” Her voice trailed off and she wouldn’t meet the cop’s eyes. That made me curious.

“Have you been drinking?”

I cracked both eyelids. The woman’s face registered shock then indignation. I studied her, eyes wide open now. The EMT squatting by me tried to take my blood pressure. I waved him away. He remained insistent on checking me out. I’m a Wolf shifter. I’d be fine. Except for the woman. My wolf wanted out to play with her. That would not be happening. I was on a job. I didn’t have time for a woman. Especially this woman.

She was slender, short, with dark hair that hung straight, dropping below her shoulders. Every few seconds she nervously pushed heavy black-framed glasses up her nose. Nerd bait. My wolf didn’t care. I sat up, then stood. The EMT looked from the crushed Mini Cooper to all six feet five inches of me.

He blew out a breath. “Dude, you broke her car.”
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And there you have it with a few additional words because 250 words gets just the bare bones on the page. As mentioned when I posted the #ShirtsOffSaturday candidate to my Facebook page, I couldn’t decide if he belonged to the Italian mob in Chicago (which makes the auto/ped a bit more believeable) or if he’s part of the Russian mob in New York because I have it in my head that she’s maybe Ukranian and there’s this whole enemies-to-lovers thing goin’ on. He sounds more Chicago Italian but I’m leaning toward changing his voice and moving to NYC. That’s way down the road. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this “meet cute” (at least according to last week’s judge–lol). Writers and readers, what would you (or your character) do if some dude broke your(their) car?