Page 39 of Flame
“Put me down!” I yell, smacking his back.
He doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t react at all.
My purse dangles from my fingertips as I try to kick my feet. He’s too strong, too determined. I simply can’t move.
“Hey, lady! Are you ready or not?” The driver sticks his head out of the window. “I’m not sitting here all night, ya know.”
“Sorry about that,” Foxx tells him. “She changed her mind.”
“Foxx, you better put me down right now …” I say through clenched teeth.
“She’s still paying a pick-up fee,” the driver shouts.
Foxx waves at him. “Sounds good. Charge her double for the inconvenience.”
“Damn you, Foxx.”
He swats my backside with apop! “Have a good night.”
I’m not sure if he’s talking to me or the driver. Either way, the contact sends a ripple coursing the short distance from where his hand landed to my core.
My face is hot as blood pools in my head.
We spin around, my hair trailing behind us in a half circle. He carries me the short distance across the porch and then through the doorway.
His grip eases, and I slide slowly,painfully slow, down his front. My heart beats so hard that I wonder if he can feel it against his chest. He peers down at me with eyes so wild that it takes the rant right off the tip of my tongue.
I pant, unable to get my thoughts and emotions in order.
“Don’t make me do that again,” he says.
And that’s it. I’m me again.
I take a massive step back. “I think you’ve forgotten who you’re talking to, pal.”
He presses his lips together—essentially making fun of me. “Okay.”
The audacity. “What is this, Foxx?Huh? Are you trying to prove some point? Are you some kind of a masochist who enjoys thinking you emotionally dominate me?”
He recoils.
“If that’s what this is—”
“Of course, that’s not what this is. Who do you think I am?” he asks.
If I thought he actually had emotions, I might think his feelings were hurt. And if he hadn’t just hurt mine, I might also care.
“Good question. I don’t know who you are because you won’t be honest with me. You won’t let me in.” I laugh angrily. “But don’t worry. I know it’s not about me.”
He lifts his face to the ceiling and groans.
My breathing is so quick, so hot, that I have to work to control it. Losing my temper isn’t going to help anything. It won’t find me a way out of here.
I take a long, paced influx of air and exhale evenly.
It doesn’t help.
“The way I see it, we have a few problems here,” I say, dropping my bag to the floor.
