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That was way too fucking close for my liking. I almost killed the woman I love in the middle of the fucking city.
After catching my breath and taking a minute for my heart to stop racing, I move to get out and check on her, desperate to grab her and pull her into my arms, when two angry fists slam down on the hood of my truck, her ferocious glare meeting mine through the windshield. “What the fuck is your problem?” she yells for the whole fucking street to hear. “You could have killed me.”
Oh, hell no.
Rage bursts through me, and I throw my door open, not even sparing a second to cut the engine. I slam the door behind me and fly around the front of my truck until I’m standing right in front of the woman of my dreams—the one thing I have needed since the night of Logan’s championship game. But I’m far too angry to appreciate that fact.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I roar. “Do you always make a habit of crossing the road without looking, or are you so fucking self-centered that you just assume everyone will magically stop for you?”
“No. No fucking way are you blaming me for this,” she grunts, that familiar angry crease appearing right between her eyebrows, the one I’ve been dying to see for the past eight months.
“What the fuck is wrong with you, Brianna? You literally stepped off the fucking sidewalk without even bothering to look up. You were too fucking distracted by reading,” I say pointing to the paper in her hand. “I could have fucking killed you.”
She narrows that blazing green gaze on me as her hand discretely moves out of sight, and I watch as she starts to reach her boiling point, only moments from blowing up at me just like she used to. And fuck, despite my rage, I need it. I fucking need her to throw herself at me, need her to slam those feisty little fists into my chest, need her to make me feel something for the first time in eight months.
She steps in closer, her jaw clenches, and just as she goes to let me have it, a noisy bystander steps up beside us. “Are you alright, Miss?” the old guy asks, discreetly trying to get between us and stop us from ripping each other’s heads off.
“She’s fine,” I grunt, not needing a third party trying to insert themselves into our bullshit.
“I can speak for myself,” Bri seethes, her glare not leaving mine for even a second.
I clench my jaw, the anger blasting through me like never before, but fuck, I love it. How is it this woman still manages to get such a reaction out of me? I’ve been missing her so much, I don’t even care that she’s furious with me. Though, if anything, she should be fucking thankful that I was watching the road and able to stop before turning her into minced meat.
“Sir,” the old man says in disapproval, fixing me with a hard stare. “I was talking to the lady.”
Bri rolls her eyes, clearly not appreciating his help either, but not having it in her to be impolite to someone who’s simply trying to care. Me though, I don’t hold the same reservations, especially where my girl is involved.
“I’m fine,” Bri grits through her teeth, trying to force a reassuring smile for the old man.
“Good, I’m glad we got that sorted,” I tell her, stepping back to my truck, more than ready to haul her over my shoulder and get her ass out of here. Preferably back to my place where I can pin her against my bedroom wall and work out our issues in sexual favors, though somehow, I don’t think that’s gonna happen. “Get in my fucking truck. I’m taking you home.”
Brianna gapes at me as though I’ve lost my mind, her brows arching, and I swear, she looks as though she’s two seconds from exploding. “Like fuck I’m going anywhere with you, asshole,” she spits, “You nearly killed me.”
“Again. Not my fucking fault.”
She glares at me again, standing still as if trying to set some kind of challenge, but if she thinks she’s going to win this, she’s got another thing coming. Though there’s no denying just how fucking beautiful she looks, even when she’s about to tear my ballsack right off my body.
“That is hardly a way to speak to a woman, young man,” the intruder reprimands.
Get fucked.
My anger turns into red-hot rage, and I turn on the old man. “Look, I get it, you’re trying to protect the little damsel in distress, trying to be her hero, but she doesn’t need a fucking hero. She never has.”
“That’s no excuse to speak to her in that way,” he fires back.
“Can’t you see this is a private conversation?” I question. “She’s my fucking girlfr—”
