Chapter 7
Maggie
Oh, lucky me.
Fuck my damn luck.
Why couldn’t the fancy black pickup stop? Did it have to be Hadley?
Internalizing a groan, I fold my arms over my chest as Hadley Jones kills his engine and pushes out of the driver’s door of his older model two-toned Chevy. For some reason it looks familiar?
He adjusts his cap on his head, and I have to drop my focus to the ground.
No . . . way.
He’s a bad-tempered loser.
I can’t stand him, and he makes it very clear I’m not allowed anywhere near his chute. Or his personal space, to be more specific.
“Maggie?” He closes in, looking at the back of my van, currently open as steam hisses and spins from its overheated ancient engine space.
“I’m fine. Hop back in your truck, Jones.”
“Seriously?”
Now his gaze meets mine.
I shove my hands in my back pockets, thanking my lucky stars I wore jeans and a long shirt today. Because standing on the side of the road broken down in a skirt would have been humiliating, to say the least. More so sincehewas the one to pull over and check on me.
“Yup, I’m good. She overheated. I’ll wait her out.”
“If you say so.” The words are short and harsh. Instead of getting back in his truck and getting the hell out of my little patch of side of the road, he stands there, those brown eyes swinging from me to the overheated engine. “Yeah, but?—”
“Nope. I’ll wait for the next redneck to pull over, thanks.”
His brows drop. “Suit yourself.”
He turns on his heel and climbs on up into his truck, firing it up. He backs up a little before indicating to merge. His hand hovers over the gear shift stick as his stare burns into me. With a subtle shake of his head, he slides the pickup into gear and rolls back onto the highway.
His gaze doesn’t leave me as he drives past, not gaining speed. Something like confusion and frustration tangle through his expression. He rubs his jaw as he passes the van, and I swear I hear him growl. He drives on, slowly picking up pace.
As his truck shrinks along the highway, I sigh. I mean, I do have to wait for Betsy to cool down, and company would have been nice. Who knows who else is going to come roaring down this old highway?
Shit. I shouldn’t have been such a bitch. That’s the first civil interaction we’ve had after trying our best to stay out of each other’s way since my first event.
It’s only now I realize why his truck felt familiar. It was parked by the old oak tree on that first night. He was the guy sleeping in his truck.
Oh.
Ohhhh . . .
My attention shifts to the stretch of highway he just disappeared down.
Nope, this changes nothing.
Not a thing.
He’s still an ass. He’s still making my job harder.
