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I can smell the bullshit from a mile away. “So when will it be ready? Because I don’t see any sedans on the lot.” My tone is challenging, and the guy’s thin lips flatten before he swings his attention back to Birdy.
“My employee took it to get detailed. Should be back before too long.” His eyes rake down her body again. “It’s just you wanting it? Not him?”
He jerks his head in my direction, and Birdy hesitates a beat before replying, “It’s just me.”
The guy’s face splits into a grin that reveals mossy teeth. Christ,I’muncomfortable. I can’t imagine how she’s keeping her cool. Yet she’s standing there and taking it for some fucking reason.
“Tell you what,” the guy says with a wink, “you just stay here with me, and Skip’ll be back soon. Your friend doesn’t need to wait with you.”
Birdy and I both glance around the shop, and our eyes briefly catch. As annoyed as I am about this whole situation, I radiateAre you sure about this?as hard as I can in her direction. I watched her handle way less disgusting guys at the bar last night, so I’m waiting for her to metaphorically kick this jackass in the balls.
But the only movement is the flutter of her lashes as she shuts her eyes, closing us all out for a moment. Then she snaps them open and says, “Let me go grab my bags.”
Disbelief swamps me. She’s not going to tell this guy to fuck off.Thissituation is more preferable to her than traveling with me.
The guy licks his lips as he watches her push through the door and cross to our rental car, unholy interest burning in his gaze. I shift to stand between him and his view of Birdy’s ass where she’s bending over the trunk.
“So do you have a waiting area?” I demand.
The guy smirks and scratches his belly. “My office has a nice couch. She’s welcome to it. Kick off her shoes, stretch out.” He cranes his neck to look around me. “I can help her getrealcomfy.”
The hell with that. She can ride the whole way to Chicago with me in miserable silence as far as I’m concerned, but I’m not leaving her here.
“No thanks.” I stalk forward and grab Birdy’s arm as she pushes back through the door. “We’re leaving.”
Her mouth opens in shock as I tug her back out the door over the guy’s objections. “What are you doing?” she hisses as I usher her outside and yank the passenger door open.
“Saving you from being dismembered and fed to the possessed Santa, at best.” I jab a thumb at the inflatable decoration, but Birdy’s eyes travel past its round red belly to the window where the rental guy’s glaring at us.
“What did he say while I was outside?” she asks almost hesitantly.
“Nothing you want me to repeat.”
A shiver races through her, although that could as easily be from the cold as from the anger in the man’s narrowed gaze. “Fine. Let’s go.” She slides into the passenger seat and slams the door shut.
“Glad to know I’m better than murder,” I grumble to no one in particular as I walk around to the driver’s side.
Silence falls over the car again as I put it into gear and roar out of the parking lot. As we rocket out of this hellhole, a bolt of longing hits me out of the blue. What if our night together had ended with laughter and cuddling and maybe another round of sex? What if she’d stuck around and we’d had a chance to talk about whatever sent her sprinting away? Maybe then we’d have been happy to split this rental car the next day. Maybe we’d be joking and flirting our way through an amazing road trip that would end with us exchanging numbers before reluctantly going our separate ways. Because for a few hours last night, the bold, laughing girl from the bar was exactly who I imagined one day bringing home to my family.
What is wrong with you?
Nothing, really, other than inventing fantasies in my head and then crashing to earth when the reality turns out to be way more disappointing.
FIVE
Birdy
I’m pissed.
I’m grateful.
I’m pissed about how grateful I am.
The rental car perv set off every one of my internal alarms, but I was prepared to ignore them if it meant getting away from the man currently trying to strangle the steering wheel. Not that I’m scared of Sebastian; I’m just realizing how much worse I made our already tense situation in the past hour. Being sacrificed to the big scary Santa at the rental place might’ve been preferable.
His terse voice breaks the silence. “If you find another rental company you want to try, let me know so I can budget time for a stop.”
Then he stretches out his hand and flips on the radio to a station playing Christmas songs. It cuts off any response I might have made, although I’m tempted to tell him that I won’t waste any more of his precious time trying to find an alternate ride. Handsome Sebastian St. Claire’s made it clear that he’s desperate to get home to his family. Are they the perfect little slice of American life? I picture a silver-haired mom and dad. A sister who shares his shiny dark hair. Oh God, what if he’s married?
