My smile fully drops, and I suppress an eye roll. What’s crawled up his ass now?
“Can I help you?” I ask, because his only response to my greeting was a grunt.
His eyes flick over me, giving me a dismissive once-over. “You can’t park here.”
Looping my arm through the grocery bag handle, I cross my arms and pop my hip. “And where exactly am I supposed to park?”
He points to the pathway that leads to the sidewalk. “Street parking.”
“Where’s the sign that says that?” Maybe if he had brought it up nicely, I would gladly park there. But he didn’t, so now I’m going to be a bitch.
His jaw hardens. “Don’t need a sign,” he grits. “No one is supposed to be staying here.”
No way in hell am I moving my car right now. I’m hot and sweaty and have way too much to do. “Are you always this rude? Because I’m starting to take it personally. Have I done something to offend you besides exist?”
He huffs, shaking his head. “I’m just telling it like it is. Didn’t realize I needed to treat you like a delicate flower.”
God!He is the most infuriating man I’ve ever met. I’m at my breaking point. Lucky for him, my phone rings before I can scream. It’s my mom. She’s usually not one to call without a reason, especially since we spoke yesterday.
“I should get this.” I drop the grocery bag—the one with my canned food—aiming for his feet.
He winces when it lands right on his toes, and his gaze tightens as he tries to look unaffected when I’m sure it hurt like hell. I bite my bottom lip to stop from laughing.
I assumed he would take the hint and leave, but doesn’t move an inch.
Ignoring him, I answer the call. “¿Bueno? Mamá. ¿Qué onda?”(Hi, Mom. What’s up?)
My mom and I have an understanding that if I start a conversation in Spanish, it’s intentional. The same goes for her, because for the most part she tries to speak primarily in English. Though when it’s just her and I or she’s talking to someone else who speaks Spanish, she’ll weave in and out of both languages seamlessly.
“¿Me puedes dar la contraseña de Netflix?”(Can you give me the Netflix password?”)
It’s really not a good time. “Espera un momento, estoy ocupada gritándole a mi vecino cabrón.”(In a minute, I’m busy yelling at my asshole neighbor.)
She sighs, clearly annoyed. “Órale, llámame después.”(Fine, call me when you’re done.)
We end the call, and Ethan eyes me curiously, the corners of his lips tilting. He looks unnatural with a smile. It clearly doesn’t belong on him.
“Have a nice chat about me?”
I let out a contemptuous laugh. “Some ego you have. Trust me, you’re not that special. That was my mom and she’s Mexican, so sometimes we speak in Spanish. Based on your use of grunts, I’m going to assume English is hard enough for you.”
His jaw ticks. For someone as abrasive and rude as he is, he sure is sensitive about any little digs I aim his way. He glares down at me, eyes more green than brown today. “So, your car. Are you going to move it?”
Oh. My. God. What is the big deal about parking here? He just wants to pick a fight.
“I’ll move it when I’m ready.” I pick back up the grocery bag and hit the lock button on my key fob. “I was giving you the benefit of the doubt, but you’re worse today than you were yesterday.”
His face is unreadable. Hard. Impassive.
It’s such a shame that he’s the personality equivalent of Oscar the Grouch. He doesn’t deserve to look as good as he does in a simple black T-shirt and jeans, with biceps straining against his cotton sleeves and his broad chest looking strong and prominent. He’s all thick muscle and hard lines. He looks like the kind of man who could turn a toothpick into a log cabin if you handed it to him in the wilderness. I feel the feminist in me leave my body for a moment while I appreciate how absolutely masculine he looks. It’s likely toxic, but a girl can still look.
My cheeks heat, in both fluster and anger that I’ve become this pathetic, checking out a man who looks at me like I’m gum stuck to the bottom of his shoe.
It seems we’re playing the silent game. I thought he would have a quick comeback, but instead, he stays mute and unmoving.
Our quiet beat morphs into an awkward silence. And I hate awkward silences.
Unable to stand it, I continue talking. “Look, I don’t want to be here any more than you want me here. But it is what it is. Are you going to keep being difficult, or can we come to an understanding?”
