Talking to him won’t fix the problem, but yelling might make you feel marginally better.
One.
I’m about to jump the guns and chase after him when a hand clamps onto my wrist.
Distinct honking noises blare from all directions as my body slams into its third hard surface of the day.
A yellow taxi car screeches to an abrupt halt in the middle of the road, stopping inches away from a scrawny-looking teenager strolling across. Profanities are spewed his way, but the kid couldn’t care less as he flips off the driver.
Me? The bones in my body may very well be fused from the shock.
“Do you have a death wish?” A harsh voice drags my attention away from the near-freak accident.
I turn around slowly, bracing myself for the caveman who growled at me mere minutes ago, only for my breath to hitch in surprise.
Emerald-green eyes. Chiseled features. Muscular arms. Attractive models swarm New York City, but this man—whoever he was—surpassed every standard.
My gaze drifts downward again—slower this time—taking him in piece by piece. The fitted navy-blue suit hugs his frame perfectly. Beneath the matching jacket, a crisp white button-up hints at a strong chest. And at the edge of his loafers is the faintest flash of red.
I take a step back, my body seizing in disbelief.
I was not lusting after the man who did me dirty.
“What is wrong with you?” I push him in the chest, but he doesn’t budge. He stays put, like a statue made of the strongest steel. “You can’t be ruining people’s things and walking away without so much as an apology!”
The dark-haired man tilts his head to the side, confusion etching itself onto his brows. “What are you talking about?” he asks.
“The notebook!” I choke back a laugh, waving it between us. “When you soak someone’s things, youapologize. No matter how busy or important youthinkyou might be.”
The stranger’s eyes track my hand, narrowing with uncertainty before his gaze settles back on me.
I cross my arms over my chest, scowling when his lips twitch upward, ever so slightly and ever so slowly.
“You want an apology so bad, you’re willing to jump in front of incoming trafficandrisk your life for it?” His voice drips in amusement.
I still—the absurdity of my actions settling.
Was it reckless?
Yes…but with his attitude, I sure as hell won’t be admitting it now.
“I wouldn’t have endangered myself if you’d given me what I wanted to begin with.”
“And what is it you wanted?” The man’s eyes flit down my body, settling on the tips of my shoes before making their way back up. He crosses his arms in front of his chest and rotates a hip slightly—as thoughhe’simitatingme.
I huff, shaking my head in disbelief.
The nerve on this guy.
“An apology. After all, it’s the decent thing to do. Have you heard of that word before?” I sneer. “Decency?”
“Can’t say I have.” He turns his head to the side, biting down the smile I so badly want to wipe off his face. “Would you like to define it for me?”
Too much fun.
He’s having way too much fun.
Blurting out dictionary definitions has never been a personality trait of mine. But thanks to one roommate who treats game night like an Olympic sport and drags us along for the ride, I can positively say I’m damn good with my words, my definitions, and my Scrabble-winning strategies.
