Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 106774 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106774 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
My tennis shoes pound against the asphalt with more force than is probably necessary, but I can’t help it. If there’s one thing I hate more than anything, it’s men who audaciously think that their penis gives them a free pass to act like a chump. It’s like they believe that their five-incher has magical powers. In my twenty-eight years of life, I’ve never met a woman who claims a penis gave her more than a headache and, on the rare occasion, a semi-satisfying orgasm.
Heat billows from the front of the truck, blasting me as I march by. The top of the tires are waist-high, and I can’t fathom why anyone driving in the city needs tires this big. It’s obnoxious … kind of like the driver.
“Do you have a problem?” I yell over the sound coming from beneath the hood. The scent of gasoline and grease fills the air, stinging my nostrils. It crosses my mind for one quick, fleeting moment that this may not be significantly different from Gianna’s meetup for the urinal.
I’ll just have to be a hypocrite today.
I round the side mirror jutting out and come face-to-face with my nemesis. He stares down at me from his perch in the cab of the truck with a sardonic expression that sends my temper soaring.
He arches a thick brow, pinning me to the spot with deep, walnut-colored eyes. “Yeah, I do have a problem. You’re blocking the pump.”
“There are literally …” I peel my gaze from his and quickly count the vacant pumps. All of them are open. Every. Last. One. “You have nine different options. Pick another one.”
“I want this one.”
“You can’t always get what you want.”
His lips twitch. “True, because I’d also like to take that stick out of your ass, but that’s probably off the table, too, huh?”
I gasp, startled by his crudeness. Surprise siphons the blood from my face. Words wedge themselves in my throat from the shock of the moment.
“You’re a fucking asshole.”
“I’ve been called worse,” he says with a nonchalant shrug. “Will you move now?”
“I would’ve happily moved out of your way if you’d asked nicely. But you didn’t,” I say, pointing a finger at him. “Instead, you rolled up here in this ridiculous truck and revved your engine at me like some kind of threat.”
He makes the cockiest face—quirked brow, subtle smirk—like I’m acting irrational, and he thinks it’s funny.
“Then you honked your horn at me, which is unacceptable anywhere except maybe to avoid a collision.” I’m fighting to stay calm. “You are rude and disrespectful, and I have a personal rule that I don’t acquiesce to men who try to bully me.”
“Wow.” He grins, displaying a set of dimples. “Bully you? Okay. You realize that you were sitting in your little car, taking up real estate while you had social hour, right?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but I was talking to my boss.”
The lively twinkle in his eye is like throwing fuel on my simmering fury. “Do it in the office, sweetheart. Not here.”
“Sweetheart?” I bark, my eyes widening. “You will never get the pleasure of knowing me well enough to call me sweetheart.”
“Thank God for small favors.” The chuckle he only half-heartedly tries to suppress proves otherwise. “Know what I find interesting?” he asks, rolling his tongue along his bottom lip. “I find it interesting that you claim to be some kind of manners police when you’re the one blocking the damn pump.”
My hands go to my hips as I bite back the first thought that comes to mind because, unfortunately, I know he’s technically right. It is bad manners to block a pump. But they say the devil is in the details, and I try to avoid the devil at all costs.
I take a breath, then wear the biggest, most facetious smile I can manage. “I’ll leave when you ask nicely, sweetheart.”
He rests one massive forearm along the window and gives me the most blasé look ever. I pointedly ignore his pouty bottom lip and the perfect amount of scruff peppering a rock-hard jawline. Instead, I remember his insolence.
“I should sit here all day just because you’re a jerk,” I say, unblinking.
He turns off his truck without breaking eye contact. “Fine by me. I have time today.”
Before I can think of something quick-witted to say—didn’t he just say he has somewhere to be?— an older sedan pulls up to the pump beside us, nearly clipping the bollards protecting the equipment. A small, older lady gets out, oblivious to the standoff happening feet from her, and waddles around the back of the car in her Velcro-strapped shoes. She fiddles with the pump, groaning as she tries to lift the nozzle from the machine. Whiffs of grandma perfume float in the air, and I suddenly crave snickerdoodles.
I fold my arms over my chest, unable to argue with this guy in front of somebody’s grandma.