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“I’m not paying for shit,” the nineties wanna-be grunts. “This is all on you.”
And . . . that right there is my breaking point.
I run toward him, fists flying, not even having a moment for my jaw to hit the ground. The guy is twice my size, but that doesn’t stop me from taking a good swing at him, only before my fist can find home, an arm locks around my waist and I’m hauled backward.
“Stop,” a strange man says, his voice too close to my ear.
“Let go of me,” I demand, all but clawing at his arm, trying to twist around to get a good look at him.
Hmm, not bad. Tall, dark, and handsome with a jaw sharp enough to cut panties right off women’s bodies. There’s something dark and exciting in his eyes, like he loves the chase, but I’m not getting those tingly feelings that make me want to slam him up against a wall and have him violate me in every wicked way.
The man ignores me as he hauls me away from the accident and over to the curb. He grips me a little tighter, now at arm’s length so he can meet my eyes. “Are you going to try and beat the shit out of that asshole if I let you go?” he questions, his brow arched.
I let out a scoff. “No,” I tell him, “But I might beat the living shit out of you if you don’t get your hands off me.”
The handsome man releases me, and I finally take a second to breathe while hastily backing up a step, putting a little distance between us. Wow, this really is turning into the day from hell.
“Sorry,” the dude says, his hands firmly at his side. “I wasn’t vibing with that asshole back there and figured he’s the type of guy to hit you with assault charges.”
I give him a tight smile but don’t have it in me to respond. Instead, I glance back at the wreckage, taking in the pileup with a heavy heart. My car is like one of the squished sandwiches I find in my students’ lunch boxes when there’s too much shit jammed in there.
With a heavy sigh, I drop down to the curb and take it all in. My precious car is ruined, which just adds to the list of things that seem to be fucking up in my life lately. Bobby keeps a car here in Denver that I’ll be able to use until my baby can get fixed, but from the look of it, it’s a write-off. I might be in the market for a new one.
“Are you okay?” the guy asks as he crouches down to my level.
“No,” I grunt, feeling myself teetering closer to the edge, knowing one more thing will have me turning into a sobbing mess in the middle of the road. “I’m just . . . I’m having a really shit day.”
“No kidding?” he says, the sarcasm thick in his tone. “Could have fooled me.”
I glare at the bastard. After all, he stopped me from getting my sweet revenge on that asshole, and while I’m not the type to physically assault people in the middle of the road, I don’t doubt it would have felt good.
Sirens are heard in the distance, and I let out a breath, knowing this will all be over soon. I’ll book an Uber, get myself home, and then I’ll become well acquainted with the stash of bottles currently residing on my kitchen counter. Hmm, I wonder if the Uber driver would be cool with a quick pit stop at the liquor store. Somehow I’m doubting that I have enough at home. After all, I can’t write myself off with just two bottles of Moscato.
The cops show up in record time with two ambulances hot on their tail, and I get up off the curb, more than ready to provide a statement. I make my way over there with the rest of the irritated drivers, and with everyone confirming my story, and somehow forgetting to mention my near assault, I watch with wicked satisfaction as a cop gives the asshole driver a Breathalyzer test and immediately handcuffs him.
I’m forced to be checked over by the paramedic, and after explaining what hurts, he’s more than happy to send me on my way.
“Can I give you a lift somewhere?” the handsome stranger asks as I watch a tow truck hauling my car away.
My brows furrow as I glance up at the stranger. “Your car wasn’t ruined in the crash?”
“Nope,” he says with a slight shake of his head before pointing out a Dodge RAM across the road. “I’m just a witness. I was about to drive by when I saw you going off and figured I’d lend a hand.”
“Oh, umm . . . thanks. You didn’t need to do that,” I say, painfully aware that this guy could have been home nearly an hour ago.
