Page 11 of Forget Me Not

“This is too thin, too. Who taught you how to do this?”

The internet.

“Who said I know how?”

“So, your plan was what? Keep going until you filled the hole from the ground up?”

What. An. Ass.

“Actually, the plan was to pretend to be illiterate until the nearest narcissist comes to my rescue.”

He goes quiet for a moment, eyes narrowed on me, and we stand there in a kind of face-off.

He started it.

“Guess you better pretend a little longer, then.”

Without another glance, he turns and strides out of the room. I roll my eyes at his exit, but then the hole in the wall catches my eye and panic spirals through me.

If I can’t get this fixed, we can’t rent out the room. If we can’t rent out the rooms, the inn will be closed. If it’s closed, Gran and Pappap—

“Wait!” I hurry out into the hall, but he’s nowhere to be seen. “Well, dammit.”

A throat clears behind me and for the second time in five minutes, I nearly have a heart attack.

I turn around and he’s standing there, leaning against the wall beside the room with a subtle smirk hiding behind that cold exterior.

“Do you have a truck?”

“This . . . is your truck?”

“It runs,” she snaps, cheeks flaming. “Kind of.”

“Jesus Christ,” I grit. The thing is probably held together by a single bolt. I guess on an island, you wouldn’t need to drive every day, but she should still have decent transportation, should she need to use it.

“Nope. I’m driving.”

Like hell. I wouldn’t trust a professional driver to get behind the wheel of her truck. Let alone her.

“Give me the keys.”

“It’s my truck.”

“It’s a piece of shit,” I fire back.

As annoying as she is, I’m man enough to admit I like that little bite in her voice. I like pushing her, watching her temper flare. I get the feeling it doesn’t happen often and something about that is darkly enjoyable for me. Maybe I’m a masochist. Maybe I just like to make the pretty little blonde girl crack.

Either way, it’s becoming a problem.

“Are you always this big of an asshole?”

“Are you always this big of a brat?”

Her mouth falls open and I almost laugh, holding out my palm for the keys. Her blue eyes flash with annoyance, but finally she tosses them across the truck bed to me and moves for the passenger door.

“Fine, but I’ll have you know, we’re on an island with no roads back to the mainland. Kidnapping me will only get you so far.”

Something about that is oddly amusing to me.

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