AllFreeNovel
Share Us
The insinuation rattles across my skin, as does the event which led to me buying a car this safe. If this were a woman I was dating, her insubordinate ass would be being spanked raw in the washroom of the bar next to us right this fucking second—foreplay before I stood behind her and made her watch her own disciplining in the mirror.
“That you don’t have to brake fortwo seconds,” she continues, “and drive a bit slower behind me for half a block in your gas-guzzling car.”
“It’s a hybrid,” I reply flatly, only for her to arch a brow.
“Let me guess. A multi-millionaire with a conscience. How original.”
My muscles tense beneath my shirt. “You think you know a lot about me?”
“Oh, I've hung out with enough of your types to know the drill.”
“Is that so? And are you in the habit of telling strangers about their finances?”
“Well, who else can afford to drive a Bentley?”
“I bought it because it’s a safe car to drive.”
“Oh, sure,” she scoffs, “I bet safety was your primary concern.”
“It is. As wasyours. Only some people are highly sensitive. Used to being coddled. They don’t like to hear the truth about their shitty behavior.”
Her full pink lips part as if in incredulity. “What the hell isthatsupposed to mean? If anyone’s spent their life being coddled, Mr. Bentley, I’d wager a guess that it’s you.” My body simmers inside as I stare down at this most audacious creature. “You don’t know the first thing about me,” she snaps.
“You’re right. I don’t. I’d like to start with your name.”
“¿Te está molestando, Tornada?”
I glance over at two women standing beside the bar to the left of my building. The first is the short-haired and muscular brunette who spoke the words, and who, from what I gather from her body language, is a highly protective friend of the woman standing before me. Next to her stands a pale-skinned redhead with one hand cocked on her hip.
“No, no. I can handle him,” she returns with a smile that she throws at me.
“Tornada?” I repeat. “Is that a real name or a nickname because you cause havoc everywhere you go?”
“The latter,” she sings.
My eyes are drawn to the chipped white nail polish on her slight fingers as she undoes the clasp on her bike helmet, pulling it off and latching it onto the strap of her backpack.
“And what’s your real name?”
She peers up, straightening her shoulders at me. “You won’t be needing it,” she replies irritatingly breezily, “unless you plan on harassing me with more‘safety tips’, that is.”
Her lack of consciousness about how quickly life can be taken from her on the road crawls beneath my skin. I can already tell she hasn’t seen what I’ve seen.
“There’s a reason there’s a bike line right next to us,” I continue. “If you were run over—”
But my words catch in my throat for a moment as she reaches for the hairband tying her hair back and pulls it loose, letting it cascade over her shoulders, back and tits. The wave roots are a very dark blond but the mid-section and ends are dyed bright magenta which burns like embers in the early-evening sun.
She stares up at me, her heart-shaped face now framed by thick strands of pink. Great. Some fucking hippy.
“It would be your own fault,” I continue.
“Oh, I bet you must have been tempted by that idea, hey, sir?” she replies with a very ill-advised grin. “I mean, you’d have been within your right to run me down, right?”
My body hardens at her impertinent way of talking. “I’m trying to explain to you that bikes are banned on that stretch of road for a reason and what you did is illegal, so if you end up getting yourself killed, it will be your own fucking fault.”
“Well, the only reason Idaredventure into your precious lane is because some drunken assholes walked off the pedestrian lane and into the bike lane with no sign of stopping, so I had to think fast. Is there any chance you could factorthatinto your righteous indignation?”
“¿Todo bien, Tornada? ¿Necesitas ayuda con el culero?"
