Page 5 of The Hitch
"What?" I snap at her.
"Need a lift, asshole?" She frowns back at me with a furrowed brow.
"Fuck, no," I scoff and feel my phone buzz at the same time—shit.
Roman
My deepest apologies, sir. There's been a delay. Tow truck ETA: 45 mins
"God dammit," I grunt at the screen and fight the urge to chuck the goddamn thing deep into the forest. Looking back up, the woman arches a brow at me. I slick my hair back and square my shoulders, plastering my most charming smile across my face. "I mean, yes. That would bewonderful."
She unlocks her doors with a clunk and waits while I gather my necessities from my poor McLaren. Turning back to the woman and her sedan, I see the door is crumpled, like she was in an accident recently. I rub my temples and sigh, the smile dropping from my face.
"What, the door? It's fine, it's just a little tricky. I bought it like this, dickhead." She glares at me. "Get in, or don't. Either way, I've done my good deed for the day."
I yank open the door with a snarl, and a tidal wave of empty fast-food wrappers cascade onto the ground. "You've got to be kidding me."
"Oh, fuck off, asshole."
"Back toasshole, eh? I likedickheadbetter," I snark as I settle into her filthy vehicle. She's a weird one. My schmoozing is legendary—I can usually get anything I want with a smirk and a wink. As soon as the door is shut, she takes off at speed and throws my head back into the tattered upholstery. I think she says something else, but I've tuned her out as I tap a message to Roman.
Found a ride. Car still needs a tow. Be in the city soon.
Yes, sir.
"Hello? Dickhead?" The woman snaps her fingers in front of my face. "Were you listening to me?"
"Obviously not."
"I asked what you were doing out in the middle of nowhere with your fancy car, dickhead." She shoots me a look as she gains more speed. I'm not sure what the limit is out here, but it's definitely not eighty.
"Hiking," I snap back at her.
"Really? Hiking? In a three-piece suit?" She rolls her eyes and presses down on the accelerator again, jerking me back into my seat.
"Yup," I grunt. She snorts incredulously. Fuck, I hate her. I hate her slobby T-shirt and ratty shorts, I hate her messy curlyhair, and Iespeciallyhate the little gold stud in her nose that glints in the sun.
The woman says something under her breath, and I roll my eyes back, mocking her. She coughs out a laugh and looks back at the road. I return my attention to my phone, tapping out another message to Roman.
I'll need $4k cash for this yokel who's driving me. Business expense, we can write it off.
Of course. Shall I meet you at your house?
Yep, thanks.
"Huh," I muse to myself. I never told her where I was going. "I'll give you four thousand dollars cash if you drop me off in Old City."
"Hmm? Sure, whatever." She doesn't even look at me. Whoisthis woman? Surely a few grand would pique her interest, but she keeps her eyes on the road.
I narrow my eyes and look her up and down. She's squirming in her seat, flexing her fingers around the steering wheel. Each of her breaths is a little pant, heaving her generous breasts with every inhale. She peeks at me, and her pupils are blown wide. I can barely see the tiny ring of honey-brown around the dark pools of black. If I didn't know better, I'd say she's in some kind of ecstasy.
Now that I think about it, Idon'tknow better. I don't know her at all. I cock my head to the side. "What's wrong with you?"
"What? Nothing." A sheen of sweat coats her forehead, and she grips the steering wheel hard enough to make the pleather creak.
"Pull over. I'm driving."
"No, you're not."
