Page 23 of The Potter

I barely give her time to buckle up before I peel onto the street, fury weighing down the pedal before I realize I’m heading to my house, having no idea where Halle lives. “What street?”

The air inside the car thickens with tension.

“I asked you a question, Ms. Belle.”

“And I’m refusing to answer. Sometimes, Dr. Potter, we don’t get what we want. You barked at me to get into the car. You should have known you didn’t know where I lived before you offered the ride.”

I have half the mind to slam on the brakes and put her out on the sidewalk. “Ms. Belle, my patience is dwindling.”

I chance a look in her direction and notice she’s staring out the passenger window, a slow, deviant smile tugging against her lips. “Seems like lots of things are dwindling.” She turns to me, nothing but southern sass in her tone. “Like sleep, maybe?”

“We’re not discussing earlier,” I clip.

“So, we’re just supposed to act like nothing ever happened in the bathroom?”

“Yes.” My fingers flex along the wheel as I keep driving straight ahead. “I won’t ask you again. What street?”

She seems to ponder her situation for a minute while staring out the window, taking in the sights.

“Halle.”

She turns slowly. “Halle?”

For fuck’s sake. “That’s your name, isn’t it?”

She shrugs, her small shoulders delicate under the thin material. “You called me Peach earlier.” She arches a brow and I look away.

“You misunderstood. I didn’t call you Peach.”

A light rumbling comes from her throat. “You’re such a liar. You called me Peach. In the bathroom, when you were all growly and threatening me.”

She makes it sound like I was a stray dog growling over a burrito wrapper. “Now, you’re just making things up.”

I did call her Peach. I don’t know why the name came to me. Perhaps I was still dazed from the blackout, or maybe I simply forgot her name. It wouldn’t be the first time I’d forgotten someone’s name.

“Why, Dr. Potter, are you blushing?”

I can feel the heat on my face. Why does she incite this reaction from me? I’m known to be patient and focused. Dealing with people is my specialty. This woman, however, seems to see through my shield and is brave enough to call me out on it.

Grinding down on my teeth, I grit out the demand again. “Your address.”

Like my impatience is just what she needed after a long day at the office, she chuckles. “Fine. I’ll tell you my address, Dr. Grouch.”

“Great.” The sooner she’s gone, the faster I can get home and drown this day away in bourbon.

“I live at 444 I can’t help you.”

It’s not so much the words that cause me to slam on the brakes but the snort she lets out after saying those words.

“You think this is funny?” I whip into a parking spot on the side of the street.

“Yes, actually.” She laughs again, searching for something on the door. “No one told you to force me into your car.”

My jaw throbs as I try calming my breathing. The last thing I need is to pass out again. “You don’t know this city,” I try explaining calmly. “Or the man who sat next to you on the bench.”

Her brows furrow. “He seemed nice enough.”

A laugh that lacks sincerity bursts out of me. “Oh, he is. Until he’s lifted your wallet.”

---