Page 11 of Perfect

“I’m not a bitch at all. I was merely reacting to yourboorishbehaviour,” I replied in my best haughty voice.

He sniggered at that one and shot me a knowing smile. “Boorish? Where are we, the 50s?” His eyes now sparkled. I appeared to be amusing him now. I felt dizzy, the guy was certifiably schizo.

Connor pulled over at a passing point to allow a car through whichamazedme. His recent behaviour had not suggested he’d be a courteous driver.

“You just don’t like that I’m not affected by that perfect face and tight little body. I imagine you have all the boys behaving like complete dicks over you.”

I felt semi-elated at the backhanded compliment and reined in my response, as he was right. I’dneverbeen treated like this by a boy. It was unique, and not in a good way. I cursed the fact that I’d dressed down in a pink tee and skinny jeans and of course the no make-up face. I felt like a soldier without his armour.

I turned away to stare out of the window again. He’d hit the nail on the head and it niggled, oh how it niggled! He was the devil but a clever one at that.

My eye started to do its twitchy thing, a tic my GP had related to stress.

I blew out my reply on an exhale. “It’s notmyfault that all guys act like sex-mad maniacs around me.” I was past caring how conceited I sounded.

Connor didn’t reply at first, he was too busy concentrating on passing a row of parked cars as we drove through a Beatrix Potter-type of village.

“High school boys maybe. Don’t tar us all with the same brush. Now, who’s being judgemental,Harlow?” He quirked a brow; dammit, even his eyebrows were sexy.

My stomach muscles bunched as he said my name for what must have been the first time. I pushed my thighs closer together, attempting to ward off that heat I suddenly felt again (down there).

I inhaled, giving myself a moment to recover before I replied. This had to be the most fired-up situation I had ever been in. Goosebumps prickled my skin.

He beat me to a response, stating.

“Bet you enjoy it too,lordingyour virginity over the male of the species, like a proper tease.” His teeth flashed in a gleam of white. Thoroughly pleased with his own judgement. His words were like poisoned darts and I decided against challenging him. I knew that whatever come-back I went with he would top it.

I wondered if Connor was a virgin before my mind sprung back to what had looked like a half-empty box of condoms in the glove compartment. Of course not. Silly me.

We drove in silence with the radio on low in the background, and I wondered what he would do if I turned the volume up to drown out the nothingness.

We sat there in the semi-quiet through most of an Ed Sheeran song, and I wondered how long to veto conversation until it started to get to me. As a Foo Fighters track started, I was riddled with the urge to speak.

“How far is the farm?” I questioned, believing he couldn’t throwthatcomment back in my face.

I was wrong.

“Not far. You won’t have to suffer myobnoxiouspresence for much longer,” Connor said with a jeer. Repeating my barb from earlier. So, I did hit a nerve; one point to me!

It appeared the guy could twist anything, his expression changed faster than the weather.

I ignored his tone and questioned. “So, do you work on the farm?” It was more of a rhetorical question, as I already knew the answer from my father’s lengthy emails bigging Connor up.

“I do,” he replied bluntly.

I moodily folded my arms to stop myself from jabbing him in the leg. It was a solid, mouth-watering leg. I couldn’t imagine I would do much damage to it anyway, my fist would probably ricochet off, and I’d hit myself.

“You know you could meet me halfway instead of the one-word answers,” I puffed, feeling worn out as the journey had started to take its toll. I felt a trickle of sweat run down my back, so I cracked the window open.

“What do you want to know?” he replied, his voice dripping with feigned innocence. I played it safe, not wanting to be lured into a false sense of security.

“What type of work do you do there?” I questioned, keeping my tone even. I didn’t want to appear too interested.

As usual, he shot me down and gave me a bland look before steering the car through a pair of tired-looking gates.

“It’s a farm. What do you think I do? I work—hard. Not that you’d know what that feels like.”

I smirked at that one. So that’s how it felt. Part of me wanted to check the mirror to see how my face looked. Ineversmirked.

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