Page 71 of Ice Princess

GUNNER

Rebel stompsout of the car and storms all the way up to her mother’s trailer. She wrenches the door open and disappears inside.

The door slams shut.

She’s gone.

I notice the driver flashing me inquisitive looks in the rearview mirror.

I stare pointedly at him.

He clears his throat. “I, uh, need to know where I’m dropping you off,amigo.”

I give directions. As the car takes off, I go back to stewing in frustration.

‘Just one look at your face ruins my day’.

Wow. Rebel Hart sure knows where to hit where it hurts.

“Yo,” the driver twists his neck to look at me, “about your girl, two things.” He sticks up stubby fingers. “Roses and foot massages.”

I give him a blank stare.

“Seriously. It works like a charm.”

“Were you listening to our conversation?”

“Kinda hard not to. Your girl’s pretty loud.”

“She’s not my girl.” I grunt. Rebel made that fact abundantly clear.

“Nah, don’t get too down about that. It’s scarier if shedoesn’tblow up on you. When a girl checks out and she doesn’t care anymore, that’s the scary thing. If she’s emotional, it means you still got a chance to make it right.” He flashes me a grin. “You got this,amigo.”

It’s a bad idea to take relationship advice from a stranger, especially one who thinks an angry woman yelling ‘you and I are done’ is a sign of a healthy relationship. But I’m so desperate that I latch onto his encouragement.

If he saw our train wreck of a breakup—fake relationship or not, that was a breakup—and he still thinks there’s a chance to turn things around, I’ll take it.

The driver grins knowingly and says nothing more.

Left to my thoughts, I push aside my initial defensiveness, my hurt, and my disappointment and try to look at things from Rebel’s perspective.

Everything she said was right.

No matter how noble my intentions, the fact that I’m a Kinsey will always overshadow me. It was foolish of me to think that I could be seen for who I am outside of my family. Rebel will never be able to separate one from the other.

The driver slows to a stop in front of the giant ranch sign that serves as the entrance to our property.

He whistles. “You live here or work here,amigo?”

I reach out to pay the fare and open the door.

“If you own this place, I’d mention that to your girl!” the driver calls.

He has no idea. This place and all it stands for is the reason Rebel will never be ‘my girl’.

“She’s into you, man. I can tell. Don’t give up.”

I pause.

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