Page 116 of Mess With Me

“You sure you want to drive?”

“I said I did, didn’t I?”

Now it’s my turn to practically whistle as I head around to the passenger side of the truck.

Sasha does a good job of pulling out of the parking stall slowly, making sure no one’s around as she navigates our extra-long load.

My cheery mood continues…until the blast of a horn startles Sasha into slamming on the brakes. The horn sounds again. Not once, but three times. Long, hard honks.

I glare in the side mirror.

The truck tries to edge around us, but Sasha’s blocking their way. “What the hell!” she says. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, you’re doing everything right, sweetheart. Ignore him.”

“I’m in his way—”

“That’s how parking lots work.”

I need to heed my own advice, though, because when he lays on the horn again, anger flares in my chest.

The other people in the parking lot are starting to stare, pausing in their loading of trunks and trucks.

I can see him angling his head out the driver’s side window. He’s young. Cocky. “Learn how to drive!” he hollers.

“Jesus,” Sasha says. But her hands tremble as she works the gearshift, trying to get the truck back into reverse.

The asshole lays on the horn again.

“Put it into park.”

“What?”

I kiss her on the cheek as I undo my belt. “Please.” I do a bang-up job of keeping my voice steady, given the anger rolling through my veins.

She pushes the stick up.

“Stay here,” I say before calmly opening my door and jumping out.

The guy didn’t see me in the passenger-side mirror. All he could see was a beautiful blond woman trying her hardest to move an oversized load around a tight fucking parking lot and decided to be an asshole.

He realizes his mistake as I round the front of my truck and appear on the driver’s side. Maybe it’s my size or maybe it’s my ugly mug. Maybe it’s the way I’m not exuding the irritation he was expecting. I’m a calm fucking rock.

A rock with red-hot lava bubbling underneath.

“Hey man, I…”

He trails off as I come right up to his open window.

I lay my hand on the roof of his car and lean in. “Hey, buddy.” I pause, as if searching for just the right words. “I’m just wondering—where’s the fire?”

“What?” He screws up his cocky little face.

“I said, where’s the fucking fire?”

“Fire? I just want to—”

“If you were fleeing a fire, I’d understand this kind of impatience. I’d move the hell out of your way. But there’s no fire.” I raise my voice. “My wife is trying to back up a load of lumber without sending it through your front windshield,Final Destinationstyle. So first, count yourself lucky she’s looking out for you. But second, if you lay on this horn one more fucking time, I’m going to come back, flip up this flimsy-ass little hood, and rip that horn right out of your truck. Then I’m going to get back into my truck and ask her kindly to move over so I can gun it in reverse at just the right spot so that wood narrowly misses your head. I’ve got good aim. I’ll do it. I’ll probably go to prison for a little while, but I’ve got a few connections. I’ll be out on bail in a year, and then I’ll look you up and make your life a living hell for as long as I feel like it, because I’m patient like that. Unlike some assholes. Do you understand me?”

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