Page 98 of Story of My Life
I traded her twenties for two of mine and followed.
Hazel Hart made it impossible not to like her. Believe me, I’d tried.
I caught her at the door and grabbed her wrist.
“You’re ruining my indignant exit,” she complained.
“I’m an ass.”
“Are you expecting an argument?” she asked, looking incredulous.
“Just stating facts.”
The host gave me a snooty host look. I reached up to scratch my nose with my middle finger. “Come on. Let’s go.”
“I don’t think you know how a storm-off works,” she complained as I half led, half dragged her out the door.
I loosened my tie one-handed as we headed for the truck.
“I’ll just call a Lyft,” Hazel insisted, trying to tug out of my grip.
“We don’t have any around here,” I lied.
“Then I’ll call one of your brothers.”
I unlocked the truck and opened her door. “That’s definitely not happening.”
“Are you protecting your family from me?” she demanded on an indignant gasp as I helpfully pushed her into the vehicle.
“Nope. I’m protecting myself from my mom. She hears I’ve been an asshole, she’ll make my life miserable for the next two to three months. Or until one of my brothers does something dumber.”
I shut the door in her face, and just to be sure she wouldn’t jump out and take off on those skyscraper heels, I hit the Lock button on the key fob.
I rounded the hood, unlocked the door, and slid in behind the wheel. She didn’t look ready to bolt, but she didn’t exactly look happy either.
“Here,” I said, shoving her cash back at her.
She glanced at it with disdain and then looked away again. “No, thank you. I’m paying. This was research. It’s a work expense.”
I was starting to get annoyed. “This is a date. If you think any man worth your time would let you pick up the tab on the first date, then you’ve been seeing the wrong men.”
“That’s a loaded statement,” she said under her breath.
“You’re not buying. Not when you’re out with me.”
“I’m notoutwith you. I’m in a vehicle with an anonymous stranger driving me home where I will enjoy washing the eight pounds of makeup off my face, putting on my pajamas, and eating canned soup.”
“We’re not goin’ home,” I said as we pulled out of the parking lot.
“You can’t kidnap me. I’ll tell your mother.”
“I owe you a date. A real one.”
“I’m not interested anymore. I’ll do my research how everyone else does, by lurking on Reddit and Scroll Life.”
“Come on. You’ve got to be hungry,” I insisted, steering us in the direction of home.
Hazel opened her mouth to deny it, but her stomach chose that particular moment to voice its empty outrage.
