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“What I’m mad about is you punching the guy for bumping into me, damn near pulling me to the ground when the cops jumped you, and then the arrogant fucking statement you made to me that I would like you next time I see you.”
That’s new.
I take a step back.
Assess her.
And then wonder what the fuck was going through my head at the time, if what she’s telling me is true.
“I punched another guy?”
“Yes,” she answers, practically yelling at this point.
This is starting to make a little sense, and I had always wondered where that eighth assault charge had come from. Damon and I only fought seven guys, so the number felt off when the final charges came through.
Not that it matters.
My record is still clean thanks to the guys.
I make a new argument. One I hope will calm her the fuck down so we can get to the paperwork that is the entire point of her being here.
“Sounds to me like I was protecting you. You’re welcome for that.”
Brinley stares at me … hard. Her mouth opens to say something, but she snaps it closed before uttering the first word.
It opens again.
Closes.
She’s starting to resemble a fish.
Shifting her posture, she rolls back her shoulders.
“Just give me my car so I can leave. It’s plainly obvious you were wrong in thinking I would like you the next time I saw you. I also remember getting a drink poured on me a third time last night. So at this point, the only thing I want to do is take my car and get it fixed somewhere else, away from you.”
Unable to hold back my laughter, I realize she’s right.
“Sorry about the third drink that was spilled, but again, that wasn’t my fault. You ran into the guy much like you ran into me at the governor’s party. Maybe you should pay more attention to where you’re going.”
“Just give me back my car, Jackass!”
Flinching at the sheer volume of her demand, I hold my ground. This isn’t the first time a woman has yelled at me. It’s probably not the tenth or the twentieth either, for that matter.
Really, I’ve lost count.
I stay calm.
Collected.
Rational while she loses her damn mind.
“And how exactly are you planning on moving your car? It won’t start.”
While she seethes, my thoughts go back to what she just said. Does she want to like me?
I can work with that.
“Listen, I really do want you to like me. That night, I had way too much to drink, which is why I don’t remember the incident, but we can still make up—”
