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“I’m not a creep.” I open my mouth to further accuse him, but he beats me there. “Nor am I trying to rob you.”
“Oh, so you’re just a creepy flasher? Get OUT!” As shock and panic wear off, it melts into frustration and anger.
But again, despite my pissed tone, he smiles.
And fuck, if he wasn’t giving me heart palpitations as is, I might have more—different ones, though.
The smile is bright white teeth with full lips and a dark, well-trimmed beard surrounding it.
It’s a good smile.
Ted Bundy also had a good smile, though.
My eyes travel to tired eyes, circles underneath like he just woke up, and dark, dark hair. The sides are cut shorter, the top flopping over to the side, and my mind can’t help but wonder if he styles it combed back or if it’s always a mess.
Either way would suit him.
Jesus Christ,stay on topic, Lola. Potential fucking murderer!
“I’m not a flasher, babe.”
“I’m not your ‘babe.’ I’m a woman terrified because a huge tattooed man is in my place of business!”
“You’ve got that right.” He crosses his arms over his chest.
It’s a nice chest.
“Excuse me?”
“You’re not mine.”
“I’m sorry, you’ve lost me.” And fuck me if my polite politician’s daughter isn’t kicking in, apologizing for things that arenot my fault.
“You’re sure as shit not mine because if a woman of mine had her door unlocked in a new place like you did, I’d turn her ass red.” My entire body flushes, anger and something I refuse to look at too closely burning deep inside of me as my mouth opens in shock and surprise. “You should have locked the fucking door,” the man says, finishing his attack on me.
“Who just opens a door?”
“Doors were quite literally made to be opened.”
“You know what I mean! Who opens a door to a place thatisn’t theirs?”
“A lot of people. People who are a lot worse than me, babe. And for what it’s worth, I tried knocking. Shit in here is too loud for you to hear.”
“So you just . . . came in?”
“The door was open.” Okay, I have no time for this back and forth. I have a business to get going and a scary, strange man in my bakery.
“Gah! Fine! I get it! Note taken. I will lock my door from now on! Now, seriously. Get the fuck out! If you don’t, I’m going to call the cops.”
There. That should do it. No one wants to deal with the cops.
“Good, let them come,” he says, and confusion rolls through me. “I’ll file a complaint for this fuckin’ noise.” That stops me, the rolling pin dipping, my arm screaming for me to drop it. But I easily ignore the ache when his words register in my mind.
Excuse me?
“What?”
“Woke up and thought I was being robbed.” I blink at him.
