Page 7 of Don't Call Me Daddy
His lips press together in a flat line, and his jaw tics again, like he’s holding back from saying what he really wants to say. But then he surprises me. “Do you have any idea how dangerous that is? You’d have been better off waiting for someone to pass by than walk through Phantom’s Reach alone at night.”
It’s not his words but his tone that’s laced with annoyance that has me taken aback. I won’t be lectured by a complete stranger—handsome or not.
“How was I supposed to know how far away the next town was?” I pull my legs up, crisscrossing them, and I swear I see him give me the side-eye.
This prick thinks he’s better than me.
“Because you didn’t have a phone,” he answers, and I roll my eyes. “What do you think would’ve happened if I hadn’t stopped?—”
“Statistically, or is this a creative exercise? Because, truly, I think the possibilities are endless. I could’ve broken my neck falling down the hill, or knocked myself unconscious at the very least?—”
“You know what I meant?—”
I pretend I didn’t hear him. “Or a bear could’ve eaten me while I was unconscious, or I could’ve stumbled upon a pack of wolves?—”
“All right, all right. Enough with the sarcasm. You’ve made your point.”
The muscle in his jaw twitches, and that little involuntary response fills me with a deep satisfaction that I should definitely speak to a therapist about.
“Why do you care so much? It’s not like you know me,” I say, suddenly feeling curious.
This guy doesn’t seem to be the least bit charmed by me; in fact, he seems annoyed to have to deal with me at all. So, why stop to help me?
“I care because you’re … you’re a young woman, walking around a notoriously dangerous area at night … alone … looking like that.” He nods in my direction.
“Ew. Don’t call me a young woman.” My lip curls in disgust. “And what do you mean,looking like that? What’s wrong with how I look?”
“You know exactly what I mean by that,” he scoffs. “You’re not even wearing a shirt.”
I look down at my cropped tank beneath my overalls. Is this guy serious? “It’s a crop top, and with the overalls covering the middle, it’s barely noticeable.” I narrow my eyes. “Unless you’re a perv. Is that what this is about?”
“What? No. That’s, like, the opposite of what I meant.” He scrubs a hand down his face in frustration, then turns to look at me. “I’m the one who’s helping you?—”
“And judging me,” I add. “What do my clothes have to do with anything?”
“God, you’re irritating,” he says through gritted teeth. “I’m just saying, it’s not the smartest thing for a”—he pauses, as if to consider his phrasing—“femaleto be wandering around the woods alone at night.”
I blow out a breath and fold my arms back over my chest. “Well, thank you.”
“Thank you? Thank you for what?”
“Clearly, you find me attractive, though you have a really odd way of showing it, and I am choosing to accept your judgmental comments as a compliment,” I say as I prop my feet up on the dash.
They barely make contact before he swipes them down. “Don’t do that. It’s dangerous.”
Interesting. Not the reaction I was expecting.
He lifts the center console, pulling out a bottle of medication, and tosses a couple back. “Do you have any idea where you left your car?”
I just look at him because I think we both know the answer to that question.
He lets out a frustrated sigh and massages his temples. “Of course you don’t know where it is.”
“Because I’m so irresponsible,” I say in a deep voice, mimicking him.
He rolls his eyes, but his voice comes out surprisingly calm. “Look, it’s getting late. I think it’s safer to look for your car in the morning. Are you hungry? Do you need somewhere to stay?”
“Yes.”
