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I am not hiding the fact that I want to be away from his presence and he doesn’t miss it.
He tucks his hands in his leather jacket, the blue of his eyes glinting like arctic ice. “I want to talk about the kiss.”
I start putting things in my bag, not knowing how to make eye contact with him while he talks about what happened last night without wanting to shove that knife in his stupid eye. “What’s there to talk about? You made a move on me. I let you. And then I decided against it. Seems pretty clear cut to me.”
He looks at me, a glittering in his eyes that I refuse to acknowledge. “Is that all it was to you?”
“Yes,” I pick up my purse and round the table, but he doesn’t budge out of the way.
I raise my brows. “You gonna move?”
His eyes are a darker shade now. “I want to talk to you with you looking at me.”
He doesn’t see my elbow coming as I shove it into his stomach, making him double over with a groan.
I smile pleasantly. “And I want N’Sync to get the band back together.” I walk past him outside. “But we don’t always get what we want. Now, move. I need to lock up.”
He straightens, still clutching his stomach, and giving me a baleful look, walks out of the office, wincing. “Were you always this crazy?”
I lock the door and look at him from under hooded eyes. “I’m from the South.”
He follows me outside into the blinding sun, and I make my way to my battered old car. His car is the only other one there in the parking lot and compared to my beaten down blue one, his black BMW looks like a sleek machine.
It also shows me the class difference between us, and while I worked my way up to where I am, I can’t help but feel a little battered and old myself, compared to him.
I shake off the feelings and ignoring Zayn’s presence; I stare at my car.
Something looks off.
Leaning down to take a better look, I hiss.
“What is it?” he asks, immediately.
“Fucking kids,” I mutter. “They slashed the tires.”
“Wait, what?”
Zayn takes a look. “That looks like it was done with something sharp.”
“I’m aware,” I say, annoyed.
He looks up at me from where he is checking the tire. “Does this kind of thing happen often? Are you sure it was some kids?”
I take out my phone to call an Uber. “Who else would it be? There have been these sort of vandalism acts in this area for over a month now.” I glance down at my tires. “First time it’s happened to me, though.”
“What are you doing?” He blinks. “Are you calling the police?”
“Over slashed tires?” I half laugh. “This is nothing. I’ll just go pick up some spares.”
“You’re going to change the tires yourself?”
I feel a hint of insult. “I’m not incompetent, Zayn. I’ve been changing tires my whole life. My first boyfriend was a mechanic.”
Did I imagine the flash in his eyes?
“Look, you go. I’m getting an Uber. I’ll sort this out. We can talk later.”
“No need. I’ll get tires delivered,” he straightens. “You have one in the back, don’t you?”
