What I found amusing was his selection of vehicle. If my dates were right, he was driving a nineteen seventy-eight Trans Am. TheSmokey and the Banditedition complete with the gold bird. I almost allowed a hint of amusement to flow alongside my anger.
Only men who were interested in proving their manhood dared drive such vehicles.
He grumbled once more and at that moment, my anger bristled all over again. And why? He was standing smack on one of my freshly planted flowers.
I could tell he finally figured out the crime he’d just committed hadn’t gone unnoticed. That’s why when he straightened all the way to his full height, every muscle in his body stiffened. Very slowly he tipped his head over his shoulder.
Meanwhile, I plastered a smile on my face, remaining right where I was with the hose still in my hand, beads of water trickling from the nozzle.
When he finally had the nerve to turn around, I kept the sweet smile, dropping my head in an exaggerated way since I was still wearing my sunglasses.
He followed my trail, finally noticing that he’d crushed my beautiful flowers.
“Oops.”
The single word didn’t bode well with me. Normally, a person might apologize profusely or even move off the spot as if stepping on flowing lava.
Not this guy.
Oh, no.
He stood staring at me, unmoving to the point the moment was unnerving.
So I did what anyone would do in this set of circumstances. Instead of flying off the handle or screaming at him, I did something even better.
I turned on the water full blast, aiming the stream directly at his chest.
While he sucked in his breath, even throwing out his arms, he didn’t budge. Not even an inch.
He didn’t try to stop me or yell and scream about what I’d dared to do. He just stood there taking it as if he deserved the punishment.
There was nothing for me to do but to shift the stream up and down his body until he was thoroughly soaked.
When he still didn’t respond, maybe a small part of me felt deflated, but I wasn’t going to budge until the anger had drifted down from the boiling point.
When I turned the nozzle off, he finally took a deep breath. “Are you finished?”
“For now.”
We stood staring at each other as if a line had been drawn in the sand. With the salsa music in the background, the moment seemed a little surreal.
“I guess I owe you an apology,” he said, his voice smooth like velvet, husky enough to be considered a sexual weapon and gruff enough that for a split second, my mind went to a couple of very filthy places where his hot breath was skimming across my naked skin.
What was wrong with me? The asshole had careened down the street and almost caused a horrific accident, yet he was reacting as if what had occurred was no big deal. Maybe I should be grateful he’d accepted his punishment.
“Yep, you do.” He acted as if he was going to keep it to himself until I raise the nozzle again, lifting my eyebrows as I did. “Eager for round two?”
He threw up his hands. “Tough lady.”
“You have no idea. Out with it.”
“Then I’m sorry. Good enough?”
“Ask my flowers since they’re screaming in pain.”
“Flowers don’t feel pain.”
“And how do you know that?” I had to admit, fucking with him was delightful.
