Page 17 of Not My Type
“Why did you pay for my groceries? I-”
“Had my own card,” he mocks me, focusing on the road.
I sigh in defeat.
“Who are you?” I ask. “And wah yuh want from me?” He glances at me and shifts his focus back to the road. It has to be Trevor. It has to be.
“I don’t know Trevor,” I mutter.
“Be quiet.”
I—
He’s so disrespectful.
I cross my arms under my breasts, my brows knit as I glare through the windshield. “You can just drop me off at the bus stop,” I hiss without looking at him. How did he know I was at the supermarket? I look at him again.
“Are you following me?”
“No.”
“So how you know I was there?” I ask pointedly.
“Coincidence.”
I scoff and shake my head incredulously. This has to be some sick joke— or a prank maybe? ‘Cause what the hell? “I don’t know you and I don’t want to know you. Neither do I want to be a part of anything that you’re a part of,” my voice comes out harsh. He turns on Masicka’s I Wish ignoring me.
“You know where I live too?” Is my next question, because he seems to know my every move.
“No, but you a guh tell me,” his voice low. Watch confidence!
I scoff.
“I don’t want you to carry me home,” I argue and my body moves forward as he floors the gas pedal. I snap my head towards him, sinking his teeth in his lip.
“Yuh think dat funny!?”
My annoyance is sexy to him it seems. His legs rocking as he slows down at a traffic light. He pulls off again, a second before the light turns green. “It not even get to green good,” I roll my eyes. A low chuckle fills the car.
“Stop a deh bus stop deh,” I point. Of course he speeds pass it. I glare at him, and eventually stop protesting after realizing how futile my efforts are. He wasn’t going to stop.
“Weh yuh live?”
“Homestead,” I heave a sigh, not looking at him. He’s staring at me more than the road.
“A yuh real hair that?” I don’t answer.
“Hmm?” his voice drops impossibly low.
“How that concern yuh?” I roll my eyes. He’s now at my gate and I didn’t even tell him the exact house.
“How yuh know the house?” I glare at him, he gets on my nerves way too much for just an annoying stranger. His cronies pulled over two houses back.
Mama peeps outside and my face flushes. I can only imagine the questions that are about to be thrown at me. Cya bother enuh! I try to open the door, but he locks it. Frustrated, I roll my eyes and look over at him. His stare is intense— legs still rocking. I look down, focusing on his fit. White tees, denim jeans and Kappa slides. He has the latest iPhone on his lap, with a $100 USD note beneath the clear case. It’s next to a blue vape.
Why you eyes deh pan him lap Zara?
I look away immediately.
