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Merging lanes keeps him looking elsewhere during his additional questioning, “Why’d you break up with him?” Despite my own volition, a shit eating grin stretches across my face from cheek to cheek, an expression that Slater manages to catch out of the corner of his eye. “Why are you smilin’?”
“Because you assumed thatIbroke up withhim.”
“Yeah.” An innocent shrug bounces his tan button-down covered shoulder. “That’s the most logical scenario.”
Ugh.
He didn’t need anymore reasons for me to stay in love with him yet here he is.
Just…stacking backups!
“Harv-”
“What did Ijustfuckin’ say about that?”
“Harvey…um…actually dumped me.”
“Dumped?” His growl gets me anxiously squirming in my seat. “Did you saydumped?”
“That’s what I would call having someone show up in your office during lunch, tell you that while they love spending time with you, the promotion they’ve been offered is more important, and leaving your neatly wrapped Christmas gift on the edge of your desk like a consolation prize for playing some corporate version ofThe Bachelor.”
“You fuckin’ with me?” Slater glances in his rearview and changes lanes again. “Tell me you’re fuckin’ with me.”
“Nope.” Sounds of motorcycles have me momentarily glancing out my window to locate them. “But I like…I get it.”
“I don’t.”
“At some point, we all,” the dip in my voice is hard to stop, “have to evaluate and analyze how much value our career holds in our life.” Seeing the three black sports bikes take the same exit has me cautiously asking, “Are they following us?”
Slater uses one hand to slyly reach for his holstered weapon. “Unfortunately.”
“I thought Blu swept the scene.”
“They must’ve been waitin’ somewhere else.”
There isn’t time to ask more questions courtesy of my fake boyfriend taking an unforeseen sharp left turn under the overpass. One of the bikes manages to make the harsh maneuver; however, the individual doesn’t expect Slater to do a complete loop in the empty lane that divides traffic. The swivel motion causes the front end of his vehicle to slam into the front of theirs propelling the person through the air similar to that of a crash test dummy. He smashes into the ground at an angle that twists his head and frame in opposite directions, severing their connection, assuring us that if he wasn’t dead from the impact alone, he definitely is from being broken in two. Red streams steadily flood the road and passing vehicles unknowingly paint the area with his remains, honking not because of the horrific mess I’m not even sure they see, but the fact that we’re completely stopped in the lane.
Seriously?!
Dead body in the middle of the road and they have the nerve to be upset we’re unmoving in a turn lane you can’t even use for several more feet?!
Disbelief rams into disgust over watching the male’s head roll into traffic yet before gags or heaving or screaming can occur, Slater shouts, “Down!”
I immediately fold my frame forward just in time for glass to rain down on me as a bullet whizzes through the vehicle. The sounds from weapons being fired at such a close range has me swiftly planting my hands over my ears in hopes of muffling the ear-splitting noises. Multiple rounds seem to be fired; however, it isn’t until my head is knocked against the glove compartment during sudden acceleration that I know Slater isn’t crucially hit.
Popping my figure back up is done in tandem with me screeching, “Holes?!”
“Only in my fuckin’ truck.”
Gratitude momentarily rests itself on my shoulders. “Bones?”
“Intact.”
“Cuts?”
The revving of his engine is accompanied by him hopping curbs to continue weaving around cars. “I’ll patch ‘em when I patch yours, baby.”
Between the nickname and seeing the coloring of his words remain a cool hue in spite of being chased, wrecking his truck, and being shot at, I allow myself to collect my composure.
