Page 35 of Fit for Love

“Fucking fine then.”He rolls the window back up as the limo pulls away.

Five minutes later, the limo returns, apparently having made a circle around the terminal, and the window rolls down again.

“Get in,” Ashton says curtly.“Come on.Stop being so stubborn.”

I glare at him.“My car is less than a minute away.The only way I’m going with you is if you strongarm me into that limo—and believe me, I will scream my head off if you try.”

He rolls his eyes.“Suit yourself.”

The limo pulls away again, hopefully gone for good.

Thirty seconds later, my ride shows up—a pick-up truck decorated with a sticker that proudly states: “Driver Carries No Cash, Only Ammo.”

I get inside, and I guess the driver wants to stay consistent with his sticker because as I buckle in, he loads a giant handgun and tosses it into his glove compartment.

“Don’t worry,” he tells me.“That’s Betty.She’s here to protect us.”

Uh-huh.I feel super safe.Also, I’d better give him a five-star review, just in case I ever happen to run into him and Betty again.

“You motherfucking fucker!”the driver roars when a Tesla Y cuts us off—and I can see his hand twitch toward the glove compartment.Luckily, he thinks better of that impulse, instead finishing with, “I hope your wife loses the microscope that she needs to find your dick!”

No comment.Nor do I comment when a minivan in front of us makes a sudden turn without signaling.The curses my driver showers him with are even more creative, and once again, he almost reaches for Betty.

Taking my phone out, I put in the search bar: “If a cab driver shoots someone, does that make the passenger an accessory to the crime?”

Turns out, the answer is no.Not unless I were to assist him.Good.I keep that thought front and center as we narrowly avoid several more potentially deadly altercations before arriving at our destination: a mansion at a gated beachside community.

“Thanks,” I say to the driver, sounding as convincing as I do when I thank Tierre for critiquing something about my outfit.

The guy grunts something unintelligible and gets my suitcase from the trunk.

To my relief, Betty stays in the glove compartment.

Chapter15

Ashton

I’m still fumingas I enter the mansion Marcus rented and pick a room.Why did Kendall refuse my help with her luggage and the ride I offered her… twice?What the fuck did she think I was going to do to her in the limo?

It’s not like I offered her a ride on my dick.

Which, to my dick, sounds like a great idea even now that I know she hates me.For no reason whatsoever, other than some bullshit about “my type.”

The mere thought of it sets my teeth on edge.

Fuck.I need to stop thinking about her before I do something I regret, like spoiling Marcus’s wedding by confronting her about why she ghosted me after that night—and why she’s acting like I’m the one who ghosted her.

I dump my bags on the floor and call Randy, the guy I hired to dog-sit Sir Ems.

And yes, I still fucking call him Sir Ems because the name fits so well.Even though the name started off as a joke between me and the person I’m trying not to think about.

Randy gives me a quick update before pointing his phone’s camera at my dog, who recognizes either my face on the screen or my voice.His tail is wagging incessantly.

“Do you have any questions?”I ask.

“Are you talking to me?”Randy points the camera his way.

“No, I’m waiting for Sir Ems to bark them out.Yes, you.”

---