Page 8 of Wintertime Heat (Holiday 1)

“Turn right, here,” He orders, and I am forced to slow the car down. The snow is falling pretty hard, the car has turned so cold, and with my vision obscured by the snow, I can feel my frustration building.

Raising my hand, I slam by fist into the heater, making the man next to me jump.

When I hear the familiar whirring sound, I bare my teeth in a triumphant grin, “There! We have heat now.”

I hear the scoff, and ignore it, deliberately.

If he wants to be ungrateful, that is his problem.

“Your car needs to be tuned,” He says after a few seconds. “And it needs a paint job.”

That was it.

That was all I could bear.

How dare he insult my baby?

Stopping the car, I turn m

y head and pin him with a withering glare, “Look, mister. I hit your car. I’m sorry. I’m still being a decent human being and giving you a ride to the pits of hell, or wherever you need to be going right now. Don’t sit here and tell me what Gertha needs or doesn’t need. Not everyone can afford to drive a fancy ass car in a fancy ass suit.”

He doesn’t say anything, just studies me, “Who the hell is Gertha?”

I open my mouth, and then close it with an audible snap, “You are the single, most rudest person I have ever met.”

I could tell he was enjoying this. I don’t know how I knew whether it was the way the corner of his lips were curled upward, or the way his eyes were watching me. I just knew.

And I hated him.

I wanted to drive as fast as I could and drop him at his destination, but I value my own life. So, I chose to ignore his comments for the rest of the drive. Not that he said anything more. He just looked ahead and sometimes I would feel his steady gaze on me.

I didn’t want him looking at me.

“Here. We’re here. Please get out of my car.” I don’t even bother to be nice, letting him see the flash of temper in my eyes.

The man tucks his tongue in his cheek, and those gray eyes looking at me, make me tense.

“Thank you.”

I blink, “Excuse me?”

Part of me had been all revved up for whatever sarcastic comment he might throw at me now, that I wasn’t expecting to be thanked in such a polite manner.

“You seem to be under the impression that I have no manners,” He raises a brow.

With that, he closes the door, and walks away.

I close my eyes and rest my head on the steering wheel for a whole of two minutes, before I start the car and drive away.

How much ever I wanted to forget about the encounter, I can’t seem to get the rude man out of my mind for the entire weekend. More specifically, those beautiful gray eyes, the intense way they had moved over my face, were imprinted on my brain.

So, when I went to school on Monday morning, my mood was sullen.

As I watch the students go around the classroom, mingling with each other as they work together on the project I had assigned them, my mind wanders away.

He hadn’t said anything that had been beyond derisive and rude, so why was I still thinking about him? I force a smile on my face as a student approaches me, but it disappears when I think back to that snowy evening.

Scarlett was immensely interested in my encounter, but after being probed endlessly, I went straight into my room and shut the door.

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