Page 13 of Dreams and Desires

She actually slapped me. In public. In front of people.

She then turns and kicks the tires of my car like it’s her ex. Then she pounds the hood. Then again. And again.

My driver steps toward her, hesitates. She swings her bag like she’s daring him to try again.

Now she’s just standing there. Breathing hard. Hands trembling a little. Her chest rising like she’s still mid-fight even though the moment’s paused.

There’s this heat in her. Not just anger—it’s in the way she holds herself, like she was built to resist. Like even standing still, she’s challenging the world to come closer.

And I can’t stop looking at her even though this woman just slapped me.

Her hair’s half falling out of whatever it was tied in. There’s this wild piece stuck to her lip gloss, and she hasn’t noticed. Her glasses are crooked on her nose. Too big for her face. They make her look... sharp. But not in a polished way. In a real way.

She’s not trying to be anything. That’s what’s messing with me.

I should be mad. Should be calling someone. Telling her to get the hell away from my car. But I just stand there, quiet.

Watching her like she’s the problem and the answer to something I didn’t realize I’d been asking.

Finally, behind her, the guy, her brother, tries to wave her off. “Juniper,” he pleads. “Just let it go. Please.”

She spins around like he just betrayed her.

“Let it go?” she snaps. “Are you serious right now, Jacob? Look at your arm. He could’ve killed us!”

She jerks her purse open and starts digging through it and pulls out a pen.

Clicks it once. Twice.

Then she steps toward the side of the car.

Raises the pen.

Lines it up with the paint near the passenger door like she’s about to carve her initials into it.

That does it. I finally snap out from the trance I was in since the slap and step closer. The woman goes rigid all the while glaring at me. “Don’t do anything stupid. Otherwise, you’ll regret it.” I warn her.

She doesn’t move; she just stares daggers at me, like it’s hard for her to believe that I just threatened her. I stare back, but then my eyes drop to her lips—full, luscious, right at that moment, familiar. A memory stirs—something from the past. I’ve seen her before.

“We’ve met before.”

“What?” she asks, her eyes narrowing.

“At Axel’s wedding,” I say, the words landing before I can really think about them. “I’m—Zade. Zade Patterson. I was there. I’m Axel’s friend.”

I see something shift in her face. Not exactly softening—but recognition, yeah. Just for a second.

Then she pushes me, palms flat against my chest.

“I don’t care if you’re Axel’s friend!” she snaps, voice shaking now. “That doesn’t mean anything to me right now!”

Her hair flies across her face as she turns, then flips back when she locks eyes with me again. That glare could burn a hole through glass.

“You’re just a rich jerk,” she says, spitting the word like it tastes bad. “And the way you tried to get ahead of this? Like ifyouspeak first, ifyoucontrol the story, everyone’s just gonna believe whatever version you sell—”

She takes a shaky breath, eyes flicking to the small crowd still watching.

“I’m not letting you twist this around. I’m not letting you turn this into your narrative.”

---