“Sure. Tequila.” I grin politely. It feels more like a grimace, but I’m trying.
“Oh, you have an accent! Are you Australian?” His eyes widen as he sits on the next stool and clicks his fingers for the bartender like a complete wanker.
Already, I want to punch this dude in his smug and greasy face.
“No. I’m English.” Why do they always think I’m Australian?
“That’s cool. I love the Brits. Allo Guvna.” He laughs as though he’s the funniest man in the world. He is far from it.
I down the tequila shot placed in front of me and stand, resisting the strong urge to smash this guy’s face into my empty glass.
“Thanks for the drink.” I’m still trying the polite thing where I avoid the trouble I heavily attract. Grabbing my backpack and the handle of my suitcase, I start to walk away, until I’m stopped abruptly.
Slowly, I turn my head to look behind me, finding the grinning wanker holding on to my case. I glare at him, silently promising a painful death if he doesn’t remove his hand.
“Aren’t you going to repay me?” The utter gall of this freak.
I tilt my head to the side, eyeing him up and down, measuring his worth. He was found wanting the moment he approached. Without offering him a response, I turn away again, yanking at my case to loosen his grip.
It works. Thankfully.
Nobody is dying today.
I start to walk toward the entrance, ready to pull up the maps on my phone to see how far I have to go before I arrive at my final destination. However, the greasy wankstain apparently didn’t get the hint.
“Hey, there’s no need to be rude, Red. Come on, I’ll let you sit on my lap if you say sorry.”
Red.Red.
I fucking hate when lazy nutsacks use my hair color to nickname me. I am not on my way to Grandma’s house with a basket of muffins about to get my wolf on.
Still, I ignore him and continue on.
Next comes a sharp slap to my arse, followed by a very unwanted squeeze.
My blood is boiling, heat traversing my body and powering my rage, but, again, I exercise all the restraint I have ever possessed, determined not to have a déjà vu moment, and ignore him.
“You’re not even that good looking. Stuck up bitch.” Seemingly, this man has a death wish, because he shoves past me, makes me stop in my tracks, and he has the audacity to lookat me like shit on his shoe. “In America, it’s not polite to accept a drink from a man without putting out.”
Fine.Inhaling a deep breath, I allow a real smile to spread across my lips.
“How about you take me to the alley behind the gas station?” I flutter my lashes, casually pushing my breasts together with my arms, my ample cleavage impossible to miss.
The man’s weasley eyes zero in on my exposed flesh, the v-cut top beneath my waist-length jacket giving him a great view.
Got him.
“I knew you were a dirty little whore.” His gaze heats and he licks his lips, his aim clearly to turn me on, and I let him think it’s working with a light giggle.
Without waiting for me to say another word, he grabs my free arm and begins leading me outside.Eager beaver.
The chill has picked up a little more, but when I’m finished with this twatwaffle I can slide on a thick sweater from my case. We walk in silence, him in anticipation of the orgasm he thinks he’s going to get, and me in anticipation of seeing him with a broken nose.
“This would be easier if you were wearing a skirt, but I can make do if you just pull your pants down and bend over.” Another slap to my arse before he grips my chin, squeezes my cheeks, and fucking licks the tip of my nose.
It takes everything inside me not to rip his nuts off, here and now.
Shoving me against the wall once we reach the alley, he begins working on his belt and zipper, and I waste no time punching him in the weaselly face.