Page 6 of Over the Line

I’m exhausted.

I’m approximately three milliseconds away from crying—and this time in relief for the first time in twenty-four hours.

But I still manage to react to the man shouting at me with impressive speed, bending down and scooping up the Tupperware container I had commandeered to use as a shovel and lifting it threateningly. “Back off!” I shout, looking up.

And then up.

And thenupsome more.

The man in front of me is huge.

Like head brushing along the bottom branches of the pine trees that cluster around the road, like he won’t fit in the driver’s seat of my car, like he’ll bang his skull on the tops of doorframes, like he is…hugekind of huge.

My Tupperware won’t do shit to stop him, but I still hold it like I’m going to wield it as a sword anyway.

I am fierce. I am a warrior. I am…

Going to die.

I consider launching the scoop of snow at him, straight into his eyes, a la a bad guy throwing dust in the hero’s in every cheesy action movie I love to watch.

Likely, this man would just swipe it away.

Andthenmurder me worse.

Which—God, if I have nothing else (and I didn’t have much)—then I at least need to maintain my grammar dignity.

Starting with removing the phrasemurder me worsefrom my vernacular.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he snaps again.

“Back”—I lift the container higher and—

He plucks it out of my hands, tossing it to the side in a movement that is almost faster than my eyes can track.

“Hey!” I snap.

I need that. I keep my cookies—the ones I had to gainfully consume in order to free up the container for digging—in there. More than that, it’s a good container, and good containers are hard to find.

Or maybe that’s men.

Whatever.

Tupperware is expensive and it still has its matching lid and…it’smine.

Yes, that’s me going full Gollum.

My precious.

The huge—huge!—man rotates back to face me, hazel eyes snapping with fire. “You’re standing in the middle of the fucking street in the middle of a fucking snowstorm.”

“Wow,” I snap back, sarcasm so rampant I almost surprise myself, “I hadn’t noticed. Thanks for pointing that out.” Sneakers skidding on the ice, I march over to my precious, scooping up the container and cradling it against my chest as I glare at the man and move back to my vehicle.

“I almost hit you with my car,” he grits out.

I set the container on the back seat, consider belting her in just to be safe then decide that’s a step too far. “Clearly you didn’t,” I return as I spin back to face him.

Though, with all that spinning, I don’t miss the skid marks in the road—mine that are almost completely erased, his that are rapidly being filled in with snow…and lead to a large black SUV.

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