He looks stricken. “I shouldn’t have said that, but you just kept talking and I was—”
Fucking unbelievable.
I narrow my eyes. “Women have the right to do that, you know.”
“Of course they do.” His voice rises above his low growl before he pitches it lower again. There’s no point in trying to muffle our voices. Everyone is already straining to listen in. We’re those people—the ones giving everyone gossip to tell their coworkers.
He holds up his hands, a plea for a break. “I didn’t notice, okay? I was in my head about—” He cuts himself off abruptly with a sharp shake of his head. “I didn’t realize I hit your car, but now that I do, I want to make it right. I’d rather pay you directly than deal with a bunch of bullshit, that’s all.”
“Excuse me if I’d prefer to deal with an insurance company than you.”
His lips break into a grin before he pulls them into a line. A distractingly tempting line that is anything but thin. I bet this man can kiss. Darwin’s theory of survival of the fittest at work. A man like this, with a less-than-stellar personality, needs to rely on more physical attributes to hook women. Hence the hair, and those forearms, and that intense gaze sending my stomach into a tizzy.
But I have had my fill of men like this—ones that don’t deserve an ounce of my admiration despite their good looks.
“Next,” the person behind the counter calls. Wes points behind me, indicating that it’s my turn.
After I place my order, I drift over to the side counter to wait for it. The niece comes my way, stopping beside me while her uncle placestheir order. She’s got a few inches of height on me and the stocky build of an athlete. Her pencil-thin brown hair flows halfway down her back in a ponytail.
“He’s going to pay for the damage,” she says, eyes on her phone.
“How do you know?”
She shrugs. “He’s grumpy, but my mom says he always does the right thing.”
Before I can reply, the bored voice of the kid behind the counter fills the room. “Is-la,” he shouts, mispronouncing my name, as he sets down the coffee cup with my plain black coffee. I eagerly take a sip, enjoying the scalding hot burn of the drink. Fucked up, I know.
“Your name is Is-la?” Wes’s niece asks.
“It’s pronounced Eye-la.”
She laughs. “Someone once called me ‘Thuh-ay’, but obviously my name is pronounced Thee-uh.”
I smile. “So you know my pain.”
Wes wanders over to us, and the apprehension stitched into his features calms my anger. He’s not the only reason for my current mood. At any moment, I could run into my father, who will express disappointment over my “lack of career”; my mother, who will shame me for divorcing my husband; or my ex, who will try to win me back for the millionth time because he can’t take no for an answer.
But that isn’t Wes’s problem, and I should stop taking my anxiety out on people who aren’t the cause of it.
“Can I have your number?” I ask once Wes reaches us. His eyebrows shoot to his hairline. “Calm down, I’m nothittingon you. It’s so we can arrange payment.”
“What changed your mind?”
I glance over at Thea. “Someone told me I can trust you. Besides, I have somewhere to be. I’m ready when you are.”
He recites the number, and I punch it into my phone under the name “Parking lot terrorist.” Wes pulls his cell phone from his jeans pocket, expecting me to give him my number as well. He’ll have mine soon enough when I text him the estimate, but that bone-deep stubbornness that has long been part of my personality won’t let me go easy on him.
I pop my phone into my clutch. “You’ll be hearing from me,” I say.
“I don’t doubt it,” he mutters, and I swear there’s a trace of amusement in his voice. No clue why. I will take Brooks’s car to the dealership to make sure the damage is repaired correctly, and that won’t be cheap.
“Nice to meet you, Thea.”
“Bye, Isla!” Thea calls as I leave.
At least my day can only go up from here.
Chapter 4
