Already starting off strong, I see.
“What happened to hello? How are you?” I mumble before opening the passenger door and setting my travel cup in the sleek, dark cup holders. This damn truck had to cost a fortune. It’s got a screen that stretches across the dash, seat warmers, and all of the bells and whistles.
Someone’s loaded.
“I’m sorry,” he apologizes quietly. “Hello, how are you?”
Fine and dandy, considering I think you're a psychopath wearing a devilishly handsome man’s skin. Really, it should be illegal to look that good, but be such a dick head all the time.
“I’m fine,” I pull my jacket tighter over my chest before my head tilts. “If we’re going to do this for eight hours, can I at least know your name?”
He blinks. “You don't know my name?”
Was I supposed to?
Oh, please forgive me, stranger, for not checking the stalker handbook before this encounter.
“No,” I deadpan.
“Of course,” he mutters. “It’s Rowan.”
Oh! That's what it’s short for!
I liked romaine lettuce better.
“Well,Rowan,” I rock back on my heels before motioning to my window. “I still have a few totes to grab, and then I have to turn my key into the front—”
“Get in the truck and I’ll handle it.” He commands in that blunt way that eats at my patience so easily.
“I’m perfectly capable of handling thingsmyself.” I snap.
He sighs, and that cut jaw works as if I'm the biggest annoyance known to man. “Never said you couldn't. It’s cold. You can warm up in the truck.”
It did feel pretty warm in there…
Okay, maybe I need to wave the white flag a little. He hasn't been extremely weird, and I’m freezing my ass off.
“Okay,” I answer quietly. “Unit twelve. Everything is in the living room. You’ll pass the front office on the way there.” I give him a small cordial smile to sweeten the deal.
He stops, staring at me for far longer than what's considered normal before turning on his heel and stalking toward the building. “Get in the truck, Addison.”
My eyes narrow on his retreating figure. “Get in the truck, Addison.” I mock before sliding into the front seat. As soon as I close the door, it locks. My eyes shift to the stairwell, and Rowan holds the key fob up before dipping into the building, and my teeth grind.
“Does he think I’m a child?” I growl as I turn the seat warmer up. Being out of the cold feels nice, and I hate that it’s helping my horrible mood ebb by the ticking seconds.
When the stairwell door opens again, Rowan walks out like some kind of fucking savior as he carries the two totes I assembled like they weigh nothing. Hulking arms wrap around the grey boxes, flexing as he moves. He has a thermal shirt on to block out the cold, but I have an active imagination. I know what he's packing under there.
He sets the totes down in the truck bed before strapping them down with cables. The whole time, I shamelessly rake my eyes over his body in the rear view. Thick thighs covered by dark jeans, a wide back that flexes anytime he moves, and massive hands that look like they could strangle a fucking tree.
He really is the perfect specimen. Too bad he’s an asshole.
And potentially a psychopath.
He rounds to the driver’s side and climbs in quickly to block out the chill. “That’s all you had?”
“Yeah, I don't have much.” I shrug. When I look over at him, he’s already staring at me. “What?”
“That can't be all you own, Addison.”
