Page 4 of Pretend You Love Me
I turn to open the back door, but my hands are shaking so badly, I can’t.
“Step aside,” he grumbles.
“If I’m keeping you from being somewhere, just leave,” I say, surprising myself. Normally I have endless patience. I’m an elementary school teacher. I can keep my cool in a room full of wild second graders, but this guy has pissed me off. Either rescue me or don’t. You don’t need to be pissy about it.
“I do have places to be.” He pulls the door open. “But I’m not going to leave you on the side of the road.”
Sorry to inconvenience you, sheesh.
“I didn’t ask you to be my knight in shining armor,” I huff.
“Good, because you’d be sorely disappointed, princess.”
I scoff.
“I’ll call someone. I don’t need your help,” I say, crossing my arms.
“Who are you going to call, princess?” He looks sideways at me.
“Don’t call me princess,” I seethe.
“Fine, you were the one who wanted a knight in shining armor.”
I pull out my phone. “I’ll handle this by myself.”
“Good luck. No cell service out here.”
“Damn it,” He’s right. No bars at all.
“You’re stuck with me.” He grabs my bag from the car. I shake out my hands and lean into the front seat and grab the keys, my phone, and my purse.
My head is starting to pound, and I touch my forehead, forgetting about my cut. I bring my fingers back in front of my face - covered in blood. I wobble a little at the sight of it.
“Easy there, Ginger,” he says, taking my arm. “I really don’t have time to peel you off the ground.”
I close my eyes for a moment, trying to regain my balance, and then I jerk my arm away. “I’ve got it.”
“Whatever you say, princess,” He’s holding his hands up in a surrender pose.
“I told you not to call me that,” I snap as I follow him to his truck and climb into the passenger seat. I close my eyes and pray he isn’t a serial killer while I buckle my seat belt. When I open my eyes again, he’s just staring at me.
“Were you just praying?” he asks, his head tilted to the side.
“Maybe,” I answer, looking straight ahead.
“About what?” He hasn’t started the car yet. He’s still staring at me like I’m a puzzle.
“Nothing,” I say pointedly.
“Tell me,” he commands. Shit, he’s not going anywhere until I do.
“I’m just praying you aren’t a serial killer,” I mumble quickly.
He doesn’t respond for a moment, and then he leans his head back and laughs loudly.
“You don’t have to make fun of me,” I say, still staring ahead.Asshole.
He continues to laugh.
