Page 63 of If Our Hearts Collide

“Don’t interrupt me! Yet you get assigned this cakewalk task of watching little ole me. Maybe my brothers are punishing you with this obvious demotion. They are kinda passive-aggressive like that.”

I chuckle over her word vomit. And just like that I’m no longer angry with her. She doesn’t even have a clue what effect she has over me. If she did, I’d be in a lot more trouble.

Gathering her hair, Penny wraps the pink hair tie around it, twisting it into place. I can’t evict the smell of strawberries that radiates off her body from my nostrils and also don’t want to. It’s a welcome scent in comparison to the ashtray-smelling boy she hired to give her a ride—probably into a ditch somewhere as he had a tire approaching flat.

The sun is nearly set, while the dark clouds roll in. We hit little pockets of rain as we get closer and closer to the city. It is weird having this state of peace right now on this drive, and I can’t help but wonder if it is just the calm before the storm—figuratively and literally.

I glance over at Penny, take in her dress, the way her ankles keep crossing and uncrossing, and how her fingers can’t keep still on her lap. With every glimpse I get of her feet, anger simmers through me over just how bad her blisters are.

Dammit.

I know better.

“Where should I take you, Penelope?”

“To the circuit court so I can change my name. Why must you insist on the formalities?”

I smile to myself over her outburst but ignore her question. Her mouth is going to get her into trouble.

Sassy little thing.

After several minutes, Penny shifts in her seat, reaching down to retrieve her phone from her bag. “Um, the address is 625 Monroe. Building is called?—”

“Sky View Apartments?” I snap.

“Ah, yeah, how did you know?”

“Why the fuck do you need to go to an apartment building at”—I glance at the dashboard for the time—“seven o’clock at night?”

I rub a hand down my chin as it is starting to make sense. Her dress… The way she called a ride instead of asking me for one. Her secretive demeanor…

“You are going there to have sex with someone?”

Her body turns in her seat as her mouth drops. “What?”

She studies my face for any humor, surely never going to find any. This isn’t a fucking joke. I’m definitely not laughing. If she thinks I’m just going to drop her off at some asshole’s place so she can check whatever goal off her freaking goal sheet, I’m going to most definitely have a say about it.

So, don’t look so surprised, shortcake.

“Sure,” she says with confidence. “We’ll go with that explanation.”

I seethe in my seat, slamming my fist to the steering wheel. “I’m not dropping you off at some random person’s residence so you can be taken advantage of.”

“Then let me out. I’ll drop myself off.”

“Here?”

She crosses her arms over her chest. I try not to notice how her breasts get pushed out. I try not to notice how her bottom lip gets caged between her top teeth and how her pouty eyes are the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen. I try not to notice how my damn cock stirs, straining against the fabric of my pants.

Dammit. What the hell is happening, and how am I going to get this whole situation back on course?

“I’ll just walk.”

My eyes look to hers and then back at the road. “We still have eight miles to go. And it’s going to pour.”

“I can hitch a ride,” she says smoothly. “Can’t get worse than the guy I tried to hire that?—”

“Are you trying to give me a heart attack? Because if you are, it’s working."

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