Page 3 of Play Me
The engine roars again—louder this time.
“Can you hear that?” I ask, my fingers gripping the steering wheel.
“Yeah, I can. Are you able to leave?”
“Sure, I could. And I would if he hadn’t tried to bully me.” I roll my window down and hold my hand out, palm-side up. “Now, I’m going to sit here until he leaves.”
“Astrid.”
A large, thick forearm sticks out of the driver’s side window, mimicking my gesture.Fucker.
“Why did you say you called?” I ask, annoyance stinging my cheeks.
Renn sighs as if he doesn’t know what to say. It’s like a part of him wants to continue persuading me to leave, but the rest of him knows it’s pointless—and that side is right. I’ll gladly back down from a skirmish if I’m wrong. I’ll even apologize.But in this case?I’m not. So I won’t.
“I have a proposition to discuss with you,” he says.
“That sounds vaguely interesting.”
“Will you move?” a voice shouts from the truck.
I mute Renn. “Yeah. When I’m ready!”I yell back before unmuting my boss. “Do you want to discuss it now or later?”
“Do you think you can swing by my office this afternoon?” Renn asks.
“Some of us have things to do today!” he shouts again.
I hit mute and then stick my head out the window. “Then pick another pump!” I settle back in my seat and huff before unmuting Renn again. “Sure. I have a couple of errands to run for Blakely, and then I’ll be free.”
“That works.”
A horn blasts out of nowhere, the sound echoing thanks to the awning covering the gas station. I jump, anger prickling my scalp, and unbuckle myself.He did not just do that.“I’ll see you then.”
“What’s going on?” Renn asks.
“I gotta go.”
“Astrid, what’s happening?”
I pop the handle, and my door swings open. “This asshole just honked at me.”
“Let it go.”
“Thanks for the advice, Elsa,” I say, my finger hovering over the button to end the call. “I’ll let you know when I’m on my way. Talk soon.”
I drop my fingertip against the red button, then fling my legs out of the car, slamming the door behind me. I storm toward the truck, my anger singeing the edges of my restraint.
My tennis shoes pound against the asphalt with more force than is probably necessary, but I can’t help it. If there’s one thing I hate more than anything, it’s men who audaciously think that their penis gives them a free pass to act like a chump. It’s like they believe that their five-incher has magical powers. In my twenty-eight years of life, I’ve never met a woman who claims a penis gave her more than a headache and, on the rare occasion, a semi-satisfying orgasm.
Heat billows from the front of the truck, blasting me as I march by. The top of the tires are waist-high, and I can’t fathom why anyone driving in the city needs tires this big. It’s obnoxious … kind of like the driver.
“Do you have a problem?” I yell over the sound coming from beneath the hood. The scent of gasoline and grease fills the air, stinging my nostrils. It crosses my mind for one quick, fleeting moment that this may not be significantly different from Gianna’s meetup for the urinal.
I’ll just have to be a hypocrite today.
I round the side mirror jutting out and come face-to-face with my nemesis. He stares down at me from his perch in the cab of the truck with a sardonic expression that sends my temper soaring.
He arches a thick brow, pinning me to the spot with deep, walnut-colored eyes. “Yeah, I do have a problem. You’re blocking the pump.”
