“Do you have any idea how expensive this car is? How much it will cost to fix this?”
The man slips his hands into the front pockets of his jeans.Motherfucker. At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised if he had the power to read minds, and he’s exploiting every last one of my weaknesses.
“Youshould have thought of that before you lit your money on fire for a status symbol.Orbefore you parked too close to the line.”
I take a step toward him. “You should have been more careful with how you handle this monstrosity, Taz.”
“Taz?”
“As in Tasmanian Devil. It leaves destruction in its wake.”
The man runs a hand through his gorgeous hair. “Jesus fucking Christ.”
“That was exactly my reaction after I saw the damage you inflicted.” I hold out my hand toward him, palm up. “I’ll be taking your insurance information.”
The man scoffs.
“Uncle Wes,” the teenager whines, one hip popping to the side. “I’m going to be late.”
The current bane of my existence—Wes, apparently—lets out a deep sigh. “Fine. Give me a minute—”
“This is making me late, too. You’re headed into the coffee shop, right?” He glares at me, which I take to mean that I’m not wrong. “We can exchange information while we’re in line.”
I storm away, stomping toward the coffee shop without a glance behind me. No way in hell am I letting this menace get into line before me.
Thankfully, I built in a buffer, so I still have plenty of time before I need to meet Spencer. There is no room for error. No space to screw up. I must be flawless and unproblematic, and someone who can help Spencer enjoy the last few years of his skating career as a winner.
Behind me, Wes clears his throat, the sound deep and gravelly and landing in the pit of my gut. “Listen, I think—”
I look over my shoulder. “That we got off on the wrong foot? Damn straight.”
“Christ. Are you capable of keeping your mouth shut for five seconds?”
“Excuse me?” I say, turning fully around to face him.
His head falls back. “I didn’tmean—You’re…”
I bite the inside of my lip to force myself into silence, not because he demanded it, but because I want him to stick his foot so far down his throat that I can eviscerate him without being viewed as the emotional woman. I want to verbally castrate him while these onlookers recognize it as justified.
“Look, I was going to say—” he starts again, but I cut him off.
“Oh, so we’re going to gloss right over you telling me to shut up?” When he starts talking again, I mutter, “Okay, yep, going to pretend it didn’t happen.”
“I think we can handle this on our own without insurance,” he finishes.
I place a hand on my hip. “Because you don’t have insurance.”
A divot forms between his eyes. “Of course, I have insurance. I’m not an idiot.”
“No, just someone who apparently has no depth perception,” I reply, voice sugary sweet.
“Not that I need to explain this to you,” he goes on, his voice low but unmistakably strong. “But I’m not having the easiest time at the moment."
“Join the fucking club, dude.”
He flicks his hand in my direction. “So that explains your attitude then.”
“God forbid I show my emotions,” I snap. “I’m allowed to be pissed off that some stranger slammed his door into my brother’s car and then instead of trying to make it right, he tells me to stop talking.”
