“Meaning?”
“You won’t have a life. And the inside of your car is gonna end up looking like a junkyard—think puke on the back seat. Puke with chunky bits,” he adds.
What’s his deal?
“As Campus Drivers, our clients are stressed-out, horny students with minimal bladder control…”
He carries on running me through an endless list of negatives.
If he’s trying to sell this gig, he’s doing the worst job ever.
To make matters worse, he’s fingering my paintwork again. No matter how hot he may be, that’s a step too far.
“Don’t touch my car.”
He ignores the warning, and I can feel my irritation rising.
“The dean makes us do pee tests—so no drugs, obviously,” he continues, and I listen to him rant on about just how shit this side hustle is.
“Also, there’s a high chance of getting groped by total perverts, if that’s your thing. Just one of the perks of the job, you know?”
“You done?” I interrupt, shifting my bag on my shoulder.
“We take turns doing the graveyard shift—picking students up from the clubs, mostly shit-faced guys, you get the idea. I don’t want to freak you out or anything, but I have to level with you.”
I smile to myself. He has no idea. I’m Amy Hitman, and he’s never met a right hook quite like mine. I don’t plan on telling him that, though—don’t want tofreak him outor anything.
“I’m good,” I reply coolly.
“So, that’s a no—right? Makes sense.” He shoots me a smile. “It’s a lot of responsibility, so I get it. You—”
“Stoptouching my car.”
Finally, he seems to get that he’s pissing me off—but he’s not showing any signs of slowing down.
“Sorry. That glossy red paint, though… It’s turning me on.”
“Are you trolling me?”
He laughs. “Do youfeeltrolled?”
Okay, the guy is actively trying to piss me off.
Part of me really likes that cute little lopsided smile he’s got going on, but there’s another part of me—a stronger, louder part—that’s cold as ice. I step toward him and grab his wrist, twisting his arm behind his back, shoving my palm against his cheek to slam him down against the hood. Hey—hedidsay he liked that paint. Moving behind him, I lean over. He smells good, and I like how close we are right now, but I need to focus on what really matters.
“Yes, I feel trolled,” I whisper.
I let the words hover in the space between us. And then slowly, I push back and release him.
People are staring.
Shit, maybe I overreacted.
“Don’t make waves, Hitman”—wasn’t that the plan?
“You didn’t tell me you had ninja moves,” he gasps.
“Just a quick demo to put your mind at rest. You don’t need to worry about wasted students. I’ve got this.”
