Page 3 of Cocky Jerk

“I don’t have my insurance card on me,” I confess.

“I see.”

There’s no chance in hell I’m getting out of this and I already wasted ten minutes of my life I’ll never get back. Releasing an exasperated breath, I roll my eyes and look back at him.

“Can you just give me the damn ticket so I can be on my way?” I hiss the question and he smirks in response.

He. Fucking. Smirks. At. Me.

The balls on this guy.

Before I can properly react and tell him he’s an asshole, he turns and he saunters back to his patrol car. Shamelessly, I watch his tight ass move in those dark blue pants. Then, I fold my middle and ring fingers down and lift the remaining three, giving him the malocchio.

Take that, you son of a bitch.

Turning back around, I continue to ogle him from my sideview mirror as he folds his large frame into the car and a sigh escapes my lips.

It’s always the pretty ones that are the biggest jerks.

I glance at my watch and groan. I was supposed to be at the office an hour ago. Deciding to send the Edible Arrangement, after all, I grab my phone from the inside pocket of my leather jacket and start searching for a place that will deliver Soraya a bouquet of chocolate-covered strawberries. By the time I find one that isn’t far from the office, the pain in the ass cop returns.

“Here’s your license and registration,” he says, offering them to me.

I pocket my phone and pluck my documentation from his fingers. That’s when he extends his other hand and produces not one ticket, butthree!

My eyes bulge as my temper flares and the license falls to the ground. I reach for the tickets and quickly flip through them. The first is for the light, the second is for failing to produce an insurance card, and the third is for speeding.

“You gave me a ticket for speeding?” I shriek, lifting my chin. His eyes meet mine, and he gives me a pointed look.

“You were going fifty-five in a forty zone.”

Clenching my jaw, I glare at him. My blood pressure rises and my head pounds violently. If I wasn’t sure the son of a bitch would arrest me on the spot, I would wrap my hands around his throat and try shaking some human decency into him.

“You’re kidding me, right?” I shriek, waving the tickets in his face like a madwoman. “This is like six points.”

“Actually, it’s seven. Slow down Curly Sue and while you’re at it, get that hand thing checked out. Squeezing too hard is definitely a problem.”

He flashes me a grin, and of course, the sight is fucking spectacular.

What a damn shame.

Muttering a curse in Italian, I crumble the tickets into a ball and shove them hastily into my pocket.

“Have a nice day, Ms. DeLuca,” he adds with a wink. Then he mumbles something, also in Italian and turns back to his vehicle. I’m about to lift my helmet back to my head when my gaze falls to the sideview mirror.

The bastard really does have a phenomenal ass.

As if he can sense I’m ogling his buns, he glances over his shoulder and I note he’s still sporting that mischievous grin.

“You won’t be grinning when your pepper fails you and your underwear rides up your ass all day, Pirelli,” I mutter under my breath.

Fucking Monday.

Chapter Two

Antonia

“Can I help you?”

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