“Who are you?” I ask him calmly.
“You’re on my property, lady. Who the fuck are you? Why are you sleeping in my driveway?”
Well, so much for calm, cool, and collected. This won’t be that kind of conversation, I guess.
Good.
It’s not really my forte.
His attitude is getting to me. I can feel the sass rising in my throat, but I suck it back, not quite ready to lose control.
“Ah, sunshine, why wouldn’t I sleep here? It just looked so cozy.” Great Becca, way to annoy the growly guy.
I chance a peek at his face, and I could swear I see his lip curling up. I can’t tell if it’s a smile or a snarl.
“You mind getting out of the car?” he asks as he backs up. I snort. No fucking way.
“Not a chance, sunshine. I’m not pretty enough for my disappearance to make the news. Nobody would look for me after you’ve murdered me.” I slap my forehead, then slide my hand down to cover my eyes. Genius Becca, way to tell him you’re an easy target.
He coughs. His voice sounds strangled when he asks, “So now I’m a murderer? Why the fuck would I want to murder you? What’s in it for me?”
“You could be a crazy sex maniac and want to use my skin to make a dress for yourself. It’s the hot guys you have to watch out for, you know. They’ll suck you in, make you think you’re just gonna have a little fun and bang!” I say, clapping my hands. “You’re in a fucking freezer. Not me. No way.”
“There’s so much wrong with that, I don’t even know where to start.” He sounds baffled. It’s a state many men have been in while talking to me. He’s looking at me like I’m some weird new species of eel, turning his head side to side like a new angle will help him figure me out. Good luck, buddy. Many men have tried. All have failed.
He cocks his head. “You gotta pick a new spot to park. You can’t sleep here. There are some safer neighborhoods a few miles south of here.” He shakes his thumb behind him, then crosses his big stupid muscled arms over his chest like he’s solved the problem.
Why the fuck do men do that? Assume I need some big strong man to come up with a plan for me. Like this was really my Plan A? Jesus, I’m on plan fucking X at this point. I let my simmering frustration and anger out to play a bit.
“Oh. Gee. Really?” I say, widening my eyes as I slap my hand over my chest. “You mean I should just start up this car and drive on over to a safer block? Maybe one with nice pretty houses and a nice little park? Why didn’t I think of that? Thanks! That’s so helpful!” I give him a big smile, loosen my fingers around my keys, and push the key into the ignition.
I lock eyes with him, smiling like a loon while I turn the key. It makes a clicking noise, then nothing. I let my eyes widen and try again. Then widen and try one more time. The tick is back in his jaw.
“Golly gee, mister, my car won’t start. What ever shall I do?” I tap my temple with my forefinger. “I know! I’ll go park it at a garage so a mechanic can look at it.” I look around, acting puzzled, before gasping suddenly and pointing. “Oh my! Would you look at that! A garage!”
He’s growling now, but I’m not scared of him.
Which is stupid.
I’m sitting on an empty street with a thin layer of glass separating me from a big, growling man. I should be scared. Maybe my threshold for fear has shifted after everything that’s happened in the last six months. Either way, I can’t seem to muster up any panic. I’m tapped out.
“Pop the fucking hood,” he snarls as he steps to the front of my car. I debate ignoring him, but honestly, it’s not like he can make anything worse. And if this is his garage, maybe he can fix it quickly.
Decision made, I reach down and pull the hood release, then slide my feet into my flip-flops. It’s a fucking dark street, but the fact is, this guy looks strong enough to punch through the glass if he wanted to hurt me. My gut’s never failed me, so I trust it and untangle myself from my blanket, then unlock the door and step quietly out of the car.
I pull my hoodie up and stick my icy hands into the pocket, watching those big shoulders working under my hood. I stand there, staring, listening to him muttering under his breath. The muttering is turning into growls again, and I edge closer to him. He straightens and slams the hood, then steps in my direction before freezing.
His eyes travel over me, from my chipped blue polished toes all the way up over my thick thighs and wide hips, over my never flat stomach, before locking on my eyes. He takes another step toward me, and without thinking, I widen my legs, stepping one foot back a bit, falling naturally into my fight stance. I may not think he’s a threat to me, but I would be an idiot to not take some precautions at least.
This guy is huge. I actually have to look up at him, something I almost never have to do. I do some quick mental calculations but figure I can still put him down if I need to. He moves like someone who can handle himself, but not like he’s had formal training. I’ve taken down bigger guys than him without breaking a sweat. Plus, there’s frustration and aggression in every line of his body, but every time he lashes out, it’s directed away from me.
No, he’s not going to hurt me.
My heart’s racing again, but it’s not fear this time. The way he’s looking at me like he’d like a peek under my hoodie? It’s…interesting. I pull my eyes from his and quickly tuck the strands of flyaway hair behind my ears, then stuff my hands back into my sweater.
“So,” I say, “any luck?”
I already know the answer. My luck ran out a long time ago. He’s silent, and I peek up at him again. The man is still staring at me. He looks like someone hit him in the back of the head. Oh, my god. I rush forward and put my hands on his arms.