Page 61 of If Our Hearts Collide

“I got ripped off. If you think I won’t lawyer up, then you obviously have underestimated my ability to blow through my parents’ money. I drove all this way and for what? To get cockblocked by the dude with the bigger vehicle. Classic. Just classic.”

“Please don’t get into a fight at my parents’ house. Please,” I beg, as I see Collins’s shoulders tense. I already know who would win, and it’s not the guy probably wearing cartoon boxers still.

“I can carry his body down the road first before my fist connects with his face. Would that make you feel any better?”

I look up at him, trying to evaluate whether or not he is joking. I can’t tell. I know Collins is capable of joining and winning a fight. My brothers would never hire someone who wasn’t prepared to get hit. Being wrestlers themselves, I’m sure they had a list of physical qualifications before choosing a bodyguard.

He opens the door for me, but I hesitate.

“Get inside.”

“Quit being so bossy.”

“Get in the fucking car,Princess.”

Princess.

Any other time… By any other person…

I would have cringed.

But from Collins, I like it. And secretly, I’m wishing he would say it again.

And again…

I did refer to myself with the label Princess Penelope this morning at the coffee shop.

If the tiara fits…

“I need to pay the dude, even if I don’t accept his service.”

“I got it. Just get inside and do not get out.” He eyes me sternly. “No matter how much blood you see.”

“Collins,” I snap, reaching for the door.

He shakes his head at me. “Just teasing, Pen. Now get in this damn car.”

I climb inside, strap my belt on, and toss my bag onto the floor near my feet. The door shuts, and I turn to watch Collins walk back up the driveway, joining in a conversation with the taxi driver. I hit the button for my window to roll down when things look to be sketchy.

“No fighting on my parents’ property,” I chant, causing the men to back up from each other.

Collins hands over several bills from his wallet, never taking his sight off the kid.

It isn’t until the beat-up car is barreling down the driveway that Collins makes his way to his own vehicle. I roll up the window as he gets into the driver’s side.

“Well, that was fun,” I mumble, trying to defuse the tension.

“You can’t be pulling stunts like this again.”

I whip around in my seat to glare daggers at him. “How was I supposed to know that the taxi service was a dud? Huh? Like this is somehow my fault?”

“It’s most definitely your fault.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Yes, it is.”

“What are we—five?”

---