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Holy condescending tone.
I can’t help but glare back at him for a moment before I whip my phone out, fully expecting to see the 22 on the lockscreen.
But it doesn’t. Of course it doesn’t. Not with my luck these days.
It says it’s February 21st.
“How did this happen?” I ask, more to myself than anything else.
“Your sister didn’t seem surprised,” he says with a weary tone.
My gaze snaps up to his. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
His darkly handsome face gives me nothing but disdain.
“Look,” I say, feeling flustered, hoping my face doesn’t start going red. I feel like he’d thrive on my discomfort. “How on earth am I missing a day? I accounted for the fact that this place is in the future. You know, that New Zealand is a day ahead.”
“However you counted it, you overshot the landing,” he says, his eyes flitting over my body, as if searching for some kind of sign on how I could be so stupid. They seem to pause on my pink metallic luggage set. Then they focus on the Tory Burch flats on my feet, my yoga pants, my giant fluffy cardigan, my Louis Vuitton Speedy in the crook of my arm.
I know I must look like some rich bitch compared to his worn jeans and tee.
“Well, shit,” I say. I hate that this must have added so much extra stress to Lacey.
For some reason I don’t hate that this has added extra stress to this guy.
Whoever he is.
“What’s your name, anyway?” I ask. “Or should I just refer to you as my driver?”
Wow. His dark eyes are practically simmering, his full lips pressed together into a white, thin line, the muscles along his jaw are tense.
“It’s Tai,” he says, practically spitting out the words. “And I’m not your driver. I’m doing your sister a favor. I was at Whangaparaoa by the time she called me.”
Fangawhat? “I don’t even know what you just said.”
“It’s a…” He stops himself and narrows his eyes. “It doesn’t matter. Point was, I had to turn around and come all the way back here. Now I have to bring you all the way up to Russell.”
“Who is Russell?”
He stares. “Russell isn’t a he. It’s a town. Where the hotel is?”
You idiot, he seems to silently fill in.
“I thought it started with a P.”
He rolls his eyes. “That’s Pahia, where you can catch a ferry to Russell.” He pauses. “Do you have any idea where you’re going?”
I did. I swear I did when my sister first invited me. It’s just life was so busy and Chris said he’d handle it and…
Tai cocks a brow and I’m aware that he’s studying me, my slumped shoulders, the confusion and sadness that must be etched on my face. For a second, it looks like he’s feeling sorry for me.
I straighten my shoulders and paste my happy-go-lucky smile on my face. “Sorry if I don’t seem one hundred per cent with it. It was a rough flight. Thanks for asking.”
A lightbulb seems to turn on in his head as he gives me a sympathetic look. “Your sister warned me that you may or may not have a bloke in tow.” He glances over my shoulder, searching. “Guess he didn’t make it.”
“You mean my ex-boyfriend?” I repeat, stiffening. “No, he didn’t make it. Hence the term ex. And that’s not why my flight was rough.”
It was all the alcohol I drank because of said ex.
“Lacey wasn’t sure,” he says. “But it’s all the better if you ask me. I’ve only got a two-seater truck. One of you would have had to sit in the back.”
And from the look on his face, I can tell that I’d have been the one banished there.
“Well, it’s just me.”
Alone.
“And your entire closet, it seems,” he observes, eyeing my suitcases.
“Hey, not only will I be here a week, but it’s for a wedding. Do you know how many accessories and extra clothes you need for that?”
He shrugs. “Wouldn’t know. I’ve got a tux waiting for me and that’s it. Come on.”
He reaches down and grabs both suitcase handles from my hands, our skin brushing against each other for an electrifying moment.
Then he turns and starts walking off, hauling the suitcases after him.
Okay, it was pretty gentlemanly of him to do that, but he also seems like he’s stealing them.
I jog after him— slowly, so to not jostle my brain. “I can handle them,” I say as I catch up alongside him, my little legs moving fast as we step through the airport’s automatic doors and out onto the curb.
“And yet I’m sure you’re used to this kind of thing,” he says to me idly. “Having someone to handle things for you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He pauses at the crosswalk, looking to the right.
“It means if you wanted to refer to me as your driver, I might as well play the role.”
