Sparks Fly, Tires Skid: A Modern Pride and Prejudice Variation Romantic Comedy Read online
Edition: 2
This edition published: 25 July 2017
First published: 17 November 2010
© Hanna House Publishing Ltd, 2017 - hannahouse.co.uk
Cover art by Dave Jorel - davejorel.tumblr.com
Ari Rhoge has been writing fan fiction for a long, long time. She loves spinning variations on classics such as Pride and Prejudice, Persuasion, Emma, and Northanger Abbey. Her favourite authors are Jane Austen (of course), Gillian Flynn, Adelle Waldman, and Nick Hornby.
She draws inspiration from everywhere — her favourite books and television shows, her wild family, her wee-hours gym escapades, and the goings-on in the coffee shops she loves to write in.
She would love to one day write a YA adventure story similar to The Hobbit — just on uppers.
Ari lives in Philadelphia with her large family and their German Shepherd. Her ideal life is living on an island, hanging out with Patrick Stewart and Ian McKellan.
Sparks Fly, Tires Skid
A Modern Pride and Prejudice Variation Romantic Comedy
—
Ari Rhoge
To Mom - thanks for buying me all those Austen novels on my 16th birthday. And encouraging my coffee addiction..
1. Traffic: Part I
2. Traffic: Part II
3. Compromise
4. How to Be a Perfect Hostess
5. Steady, as She Goes
6. Whatever Happened to Independence?
7. There's a Story There
8. Grapevine
9. Manners, or Lack Thereof: Part I
10. Manners, or Lack Thereof: Part II
11. Bruises
12. The View from the Afternoon
13. You Know I'm No Good
14. Delicate
15. God Knows You're Lonely Souls
16. No Alarms and No Surprises
17. Collision: Part I
18. Collision: Part II
19. Dodging Bullets
20. Pemberley
21. What You Know
22. When It Rains, It Pours
23. Reunion: Part I
24. Reunion: Part II
25. Morningside
26. A Force to Be Reckoned With
27. La Chute
28. Disrupt, Corrupt, Interrupt Me
29. Hand Covers Bruise
30. Kingdom Come
1
—
Traffic: Part I
In an odd way, life seemed destined to work in pairs. Two peas in a pod. Two sisters. Two best friends. A two-way intersection. Two dented vehicles. Two unfathomably angry opponents. Two complacent, mildly flirtatious sidekicks. Two pigeons observing this whole fiasco from a couple of power cables across the street.
Two.
“You see these two fists?” Elizabeth Bennet asked, sweetly. “These two fists are about to embed themselves in your pretty face if you don't step off.”
“Are you threatening me?” demanded Will Darcy. He was all suit, strong jaw, icy blue eyes.
“I don't know — I thought it was pretty obvious.” She shrugged, theatrically, then wheeled around. “About as obvious as my left turn signal, you jackass!”
“Maybe if your windows weren't tinted twice the shade of the legal limit—!” Darcy glared.
“Those were a gift!”
“Charlotte's gifts totally reflect that her father was in the CIA,” Jane, her sister, nodded, solemnly. “It's a little shady.”
“Shady.” The ginger man beside her laughed. She grinned at him, he smiled back, and up in the sky two cherubs decided to clink halos and sing in heavenly chorus.
Lizzy took the opportunity to stare, open-mouthed, at her sister. Jane was magical. She could pick up guys at an accident scene in the middle of bumblefuck Pennsylvania. Props had to be awarded. A pageantry ribbon and a crown, perhaps. Jane's strawberry-blond hair would look good with some sparkle.
“Charlie, would you stop flirting? This girl has totaled my car.”
“Oh, it's only a scratch.”
“Then, where the fuck is my fucking right headlight?” Darcy demanded.
“Up your ass, clearly!” Lizzy shouted.
“It's over there,” Jane said, smiling politely, pointing to the shiny Mercedes headlight lying in a circle of debris just under the traffic light.
“Oh, that's perfect.”
• • •
They had been bickering for a solid 15 minutes. What had started as the scramble for safety with the standard “are you okay?” and “I'm so sorry!” and “I'm so glad we're not hurt!” took a turn for the angry and presumptuous when Will Darcy decided to accuse her. And then it became ridiculous.
“It was your fault!” insisted Elizabeth. “Just own up to it. It's Saturday morning, this street is deserted, and you have no witnesses to back up your web of lies.”
Charlie shuffled his feet awkwardly.
“No offense,” she said.
“Don't worry about it.” He waved his hand.
“Ask anybody! You didn't have your turn signal on,” Darcy argued. “And I obviously had the right of way.”
“What state regulations are you living by, Suit Boy? These aren't the dirt roads of Uganda!”
“Are you insinuating that I'm stupid?”
“Yes!”
“Thank goodness we're all alive. It's so nice out today, don't you think?” Jane asked Charlie, burying her hands in the pockets of her jeans.
Charlie squinted up at the sky. “It truly is. You know, I hear there's a meteor shower tonight.”
“Oh, really? I love astronomy.”
“Me too!”
“Do you get off on being this pompous?” asked Elizabeth, standing up on her tiptoes to imitate Darcy's posture. “Miss, are you fucking blind? I demand your insurance information. This is unacceptable. Full retribution!”
“I did not say that,” Darcy scoffed.
“Bro, you kind of did.”
“Charlie.”
“What?”
Darcy turned back to the brunette. “No — to answer your question — I do not get off on being this pompous.”
“You then proceeded to insult my appearance.” Elizabeth crossed her arms tightly over her chest.
“Dude.” Charlie shook his head, solemnly.
Darcy gave her the casual once-over. “Okay, to your credit, you're prettier up close. But at first glance it's nothing but skinny jeans and university sweatshirts and the ponytail and do you ever let your hair down?”
“No, because keeping it tied back makes me more aerodynamic when I kick your ass.”
Darcy pinched the bridge of his nose. “I am never going to get to Netherfield on time.”
“I can kick you in your nether regions on time, if you'd like.”
“Lizzy, honey, we can do without the assault charges,” cooed Jane.
“Whatever.”
Charlie was laughing so hard that he had started to wipe back tears. Darcy glowered at him. “Thanks for having my back.”
“Oh, man, sane people would have just exchanged insurance card information by now and called 9-1-1.”
“What an excellent idea!” Jane clapped her hands in delight. “Lizzy, give these two young men your insurance information, s'il vous plait.”
“I'll give you my card,” Darcy muttered, reaching inside his blazer pocket and procuring a crisp white business card.
Lizzy took it from him, and examined it with a critical eye. “William Darcy, Asshole Extraordinaire and Badass MC.”
“Wh
at?” Darcy looked over her shoulder. His expression crumpled in distaste. “Ha ha — you're hilarious.”
Lizzy smirked, and wrote her phone number and insurance company on the back of his card. Will wrote his information on the back of an old Victoria's Secret receipt.
“Five-for-$25 panty sale?” Charlie lifted an eyebrow.
“It was a good day at the mall,” Jane said, shrugging.
After contact information had been exchanged, Will Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet proceeded to glare, tight-lipped, at each other.
“Is this eye-sex or intimidation?” Charlie asked breezily.
“Is there a difference at this point?” Jane muttered.
“You'll be hearing from my lawyer,” Darcy said, to Lizzy.
“You won't be hearing at all once I'm through with you.”
“Lizzy, sweetie, can we not rack up a list of charges? That would be so much better this time around,” Jane soothed, squeezing her sister's shoulder.
“Are you a bounty hunter, by any chance?” asked Charlie. “You just seem particularly tiny yet ferocious.”
“She's actually a kindergarten teacher.”
Darcy snorted. “Sculpting the minds of America's youth! They'll all be brainwashed sociopaths by the time you let them out.”
“If I let them out,” Lizzy said, unpleasantly.
Darcy stopped smiling.
“She's scary for such a small person, I understand,” Jane said, nodding.
“Yeah, well, I bet you're some corporate honcho who pisses on dreams and cripples souls,” Elizabeth accused.
“That's almost accurate,” Charlie said, grinning.
Darcy scowled. “You don't know me.”
“I know you don't abide by traffic laws.”
“Can we discuss this somewhere else, perhaps?” he said, exhausted. “I've already missed my appointment.”
“I have a lunch reservation at Cesarino's.” Charlie checked his watch, and looked up, gauging their reactions. “Does one o'clock sound okay? I'm sure they can extend the reservation to four people.”
“That sounds lovely!” Jane smiled.
“I am not going anywhere with this suited asshole yuppie—” Lizzy flailed her hands.
“I'm hungry,” her sister whined. “Spin class leaves me famished.”
“Wait — who's driving?” Charlie asked.
“Whose car sucks less?” Darcy, resigned, sighed.
The four of them whirled around to inspect the damage. Darcy's black Mercedes was dented at the hood and yes, was missing a headlight. Lizzy's Honda Accord had a beautiful shiner near the trunk and left tire, but was otherwise maneuverable.
“Lizzy's!”
“Hers.”
“Satan's Kindergarten Teacher.”
Lizzy rolled her eyes and took her keys out of her purse. “Fine. But you need to call somebody to tow your ride.”
“On it.” Charlie had already gotten out his cell phone.
“Come on, then,” she said, sighing.
“I call shotgun,” Darcy said, smugly. “—— It's the least you can do.”
“Well, you better buckle up, Suit,” Lizzy said, smirking.
“Or what?” He arched an eyebrow.
“Or you might just accidentally rocket out of the windshield.”
Jane laughed out loud, then sobered instantly. “I'm sorry. That's not funny at all, is it?”
Darcy stared at her.
2
—
Traffic: Part II
Cesarino plans fell through. It wasn't that the restaurant could not make accommodations for Charles Bingley and his friends — rather there was the matter of insurance hassles, and the towing of Will Darcy's vehicle. Also, Lizzy had been on the phone with her lawyer for 20 minutes (“Pam Gardiner thinks it was probably 50-50,” she had muttered to Jane). They ended up at a Red Robin three hours later, crammed into a booth.
Will Darcy was not making any attempts to conceal his staring across the table.
Lizzy raised her green eyes at him challengingly. “Take a Polaroid.”
Charlie was speaking politely to the waitress. “Touch of pink. Not too dry.”
“Same for me, thanks.” Jane closed her menu, and passed it across the table.
“And for you, miss?” the waitress said, turning to Elizabeth.
“The pasta primavera, please.” Lizzy smiled, and handed over her menu. “But no zucchini. They taste like mashed grasshoppers.”
“And you've eaten grasshoppers,” Darcy said, dryly.
“Um, I have. They're high in fiber.”
He hesitated, and looked at her sister. “I can't tell if she's joking or not.”
“You will never know.” Jane shook her head apologetically, then turned to look pointedly at Elizabeth. “Can't you be nice?”
“I am being nice,” Lizzy insisted. “Charlie, did I not thank you for extending the reservation to us?”
“You did, indeed,” he said, smiling. “Despite the fact that we actually lost the reservation, but that's okay — expected, even. Red Robin's a good restaurant, too. I haven't been here in years.”
Darcy was staring at him mirthlessly.
“What?” Charlie asked, exasperated.
“See?” Lizzy looked at Jane. “Nice.”
Jane rolled her eyes, and shifted her attention to the criminally sweet red-haired boy across from her. “So, what do you do, Charlie?”
They began to talk about business he had in the district. It turned out that the Bingleys ran Netherfield Inn, a famous colonial bed and breakfast two hours from Philadelphia.
“We have three others along the East Coast — and I had a business meeting this afternoon at our Cheltenham County location,” Charlie said, nodding matter-of-factly. “Will is my lawyer. We've since rescheduled because, well, you know — nobody anticipated getting into an accident.”
“But how cute, you befriended your lawyer!” Lizzy leaned forward. “Charlie, doesn't that go against human nature? You're not supposed to become their friend. Also, don't send them holiday cards. It's a no-no — you shouldn't get attached.”
Darcy made an irritated noise. “We met in college.”
“Roommates?” Jane asked.
“God, no,” scoffed Charlie. “He's a neat-freak, and I practically have A.D.D. We would have strangled one another.” He looked at Jane, thoughtfully. “What about you guys?”
“They're sisters, Charlie, obviously,” Darcy muttered, his voice deep and agitated.
“We met in my mother's womb,” Lizzy said, breezily. She raised her hand for a high five, and Jane enthusiastically obliged her.
Charlie laughed. “Twins, then?”
“Nope. Two years apart,” Jane clarified. “But I'm sure we acquainted ourselves at some time or another before birth.”
Darcy's eyebrows were raised, as if these two girls were simply beyond comprehending.
“Look, Janie — he's catching flies,” Lizzy audibly whispered, behind her hand.
“I can hear you.”
“I meant you to,” Elizabeth said, coolly.
Will Darcy rolled his eyes heavenward.
“Wait a minute.” Lizzy laughed. “You'll be hearing from my lawyer? —— You're a lawyer who has his own lawyer?”
“I practice corporate law,” Will said, smoothly. “Yes, I have my own individual lawyer.”
“My hairdresser has her own hairdresser,” said Jane. She meant this to be encouraging, but Charlie and Elizabeth started laughing. “She does!” Jane insisted, grinning. “I think she has a separate colorist, too.”
Charlie was beaming at her again, and their eyes met. Lizzy smirked, and took a sip of her Coke. If Charlie ended this cozy lunch tête-à-tête without asking for Jane's number, Elizabeth decided that she would personally shake him senseless and make him ask her. He seemed like the first decent, attractive man to stumble into Jane's life since Henry Atwood, sophomore year of undergrad.
Henry Atwood had turned out to be gay. Li
zzy had been eavesdropping in the kitchen when they broke up. She recalled his parting words fondly — “it's pretty and all. I just don't really want to touch it.”
But Charlie wasn't really tripping Lizzy's Gaydar, or setting off the Douchebag-O-Meter. He seemed like a good guy. And he seemed interested in Jane. His friend, on the other hand…
Their entrées were delivered quickly. Elizabeth looked up at Darcy, who lifted up a soggy looking French fry and tossed it to the periphery of his plate.
She shook her head. This one I will easily forget.
3
—
Compromise
It was an overcast, frigid Sunday morning when Elizabeth Bennet decided to be a responsible adult — or, as responsible an adult as she was genetically predisposed to be. She sat cross-legged on top of the Honda Civic's trunk, trying to gauge the reaction of her best friend and roommate, Charlotte Lucas. It wasn't going too well — the girl's pale face had turned to an even sicklier shade of white.
“I am covering all damages,” Elizabeth assured her.
“And where's my bumper?” Charlotte demanded.
“Oh, that. I'm sure it will turn up somewhere.”
Charlotte's brown eyes flickered up, and she gave Lizzy the death stare. Fortunately, she wasn't a very intimidating girl. She stood at 5'1", and had a dark, pin-straight bob haircut, and lots of freckles. Also, Charlotte had chosen to brave November's weather in a pink robe, plaid boxer shorts, Uggs, and a blue beanie. She held a mug of coffee in one hand, her car keys in the other.
They were supposed to be having breakfast.
“The one day I let you borrow my car, Lizzy!” Charlotte finally exclaimed, exasperated. “And, if I recall correctly, I asked that you let Jane drive.”
Elizabeth sat up straight. “What are you implying — that I'm a bad driver?” Charlotte looked pointedly at the massive dent that marred the left back side. Lizzy followed her line of vision, and frowned. “Okay, fine. But it wasn't me, Char. There was this… deer.”
“A deer?” Charlotte challenged.
“Yes, a deer. Or a stag, if we're going to be using the correct terminology,” Lizzy said, matter-of-factly. “Jane and I were passing by this charming little wooded area. We were waiting patiently at a red light, listening to something really happy on the radio — The Beach Boys — and in comes this stag, galloping toward us at the speed of light, fire glinting in its mutant Bambi eyes—”