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I manage to catch up with her and reach for her arm, holding her back.
She turns to look at me, her onyx-black hair cascading gracefully over her shoulder, each strand glistening like polished ebony in the soft, ambient light.
“Get off me,” she whispers.
“I’m really sorry about earlier, okay? I was just being a jerk,”
“Of course, you were,” she replies with a frown.
“I promise, that’s not a reflection of who I am at all. Right now, I just need a ride back home.” I swallow hard after admitting that I need her help.
Never in the history of my adult life have I needed anyone’s help.
“My tires got slashed,” I add for context when she doesn’t say anything.
Carissa burst into a round of laughter, holding her chest to keep her balance.
I stare at her, a little confused.
“What’s so funny?”
“You don't say,” she replies, looking at me in scrutiny. “So, your dolls abandoned you and now you need a ride? From me?”
Before I can answer, she walks away and gets into her car.
“I’m sorry, but that's not my problem.” She shrugs and zooms off right past me.
Oh, she really is one stubborn female.
Well, at least I tried.
I begin to walk back to my car when I hear a loud honk. I turn to look and almost get blinded by the bright headlights of Carissa’s car.
She came back for me.
“You should probably hop in before I change my mind,” she yells as she honks once more.
I quickly round the car and hop into the passenger’s seat while I still have a chance. I watch her through the corner of my eye as she glares at me while I put on the seat belt.
She zooms off onto the road a little too rough for a lady, I must say.
“Hey, thanks,” I say dryly, but she’s focused on the road ahead of her now.
“Just point me in the direction of your home.” By the tone of her voice, I can tell it really is a miracle that she changed her mind and came back to get me.
“You’re lucky everyone isn't an ass like you.” She finally looks at me but in disdain.
“I admit I was a tad bit silly back there. But on the other hand, you came off too strong. Like you thought I was a gigolo or something,” I respond defensively.
Her mouth opens in disbelief. “Well, forgive me. It's not my fault that’s what you think. Where I come from, it's not wrong to ask a kind gentleman out for drinks.”
“How could you tell I was kind? I joined in on your song because I happen to love it too. You should take the right turn here.”
She swerves really fast to the right as though my words trigger her.
“How do you know that song anyway?” she asks.
“You don't expect to be the only one who’s heard it, do you?” I scoff. “It wasn't exclusively made for you.”
