Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 82888 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82888 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
It’s time to change tactics, and maybe I’m not the one who needs to talk. I take a deep breath and let it out. “Maybe you could just tell me why you’re averse to the shared driveway.”
“I thought the answer was obvious, but I like my privacy, lady. I don’t want to see your studio, and I don’t want traffic back there.”
“Maybe if you put up a privacy fence—”
He growls. “I don’t want a stupid fence.”
“Then why?” I ask in exasperation.
The man is overly dramatic as he waves his hands. “I’m a goddamn naturalist. I draw strength and serenity from Mother Nature. I’m a motherfucking, modern-day Snow White who communes with all the forest creatures and don’t want their habitat destroyed.”
My head tips to the side as I frown with skepticism. “Really?”
“No, not really,” he says with an eye roll. “I just like my privacy, okay? End of story.”
“Well, it’s not like I’d take down all the trees. If you would let me—”
“Time’s up,” he announces and starts to push the door closed again.
“Wait!” I put my shoulder against the wooden door. “I don’t understand why you have to fight me on this, and I don’t understand why you’re acting like an asshole right out of the gate and suing me.”
“Because I am an asshole.” He walks into my space, forcing me back from his door and onto the porch. He doesn’t stop barreling toward me, and while I’m not fearful he’ll harm me, I give him a wide berth by scrambling back.
“How do your friends put up with you?” I ask, in part to poke at him but in part because I’m curious. I’ve never met someone so consistently rude.
“I don’t have any friends,” he says, coming to a stop. One more step backward, and I’ll fall off his porch.
“Shocker,” I mutter, then poke some more. “Your family must be appalled by your behavior.”
“No family that matters.” He leans forward, looming over me. “I’m not a nice man, so don’t bother trying to figure me out. The best thing you can do is get off my front porch before I make you regret coming over here.”
On its face, those are some pretty threatening words. Add in the fact that he’s a giant hulking over me, I should have some fear kicking in right now that might make me listen to my self-preservation instincts.
But I’m not afraid at all.
If anything, I’m pissed.
Rather than back down the steps, I lean right into his space, chin lifted high, my chest puffed out like I’m a badass.
He blinks in surprise.
“I know your type, Mr. Highsmith. You think you can intimidate and bully people with just your sheer size and nasty disposition. But I’ve been pushed around by people who are a million times more vicious than you, and you don’t scare me in the slightest.”
This would be the part when, if he were truly a bad person, he’d push me off the porch. Possibly hit me.
Instead, his eyebrows draw inward as if he can’t comprehend that I’m not running with my tail tucked. He regards me for a long moment before mumbling something unintelligible. I’m guessing it’s a curse aimed my way, but he turns and walks back into his house, slamming the door behind him.
“Aaagghh.” I ball my fists up and stamp my feet in utter frustration.
Asshole deluxe!
I pound down the steps, marching with purpose to my car. “I’m a naturalist. I’m a modern-day Snow White,” I mimic his words, except in a high-pitched, whiny voice before dropping down to my normal voice. “All the dumbass has to do is look around three hundred and sixty degrees, and he’ll see he’s smack in the middle of the woods. What more does he want?”
I jerk my car door handle but then freeze as an idea occurs to me.
Modern-day Snow White, huh? A completely ridiculous claim, but maybe I can put him to the test.
Sliding into my seat, I whip out my phone and send a group text to Ann Marie, Hayley, and Erica. I need your help. Shenanigans at midnight. Help me vanquish the asshole.
I hit Send. None of them will have a clue what that means because I haven’t yet told anyone about my fresh new hell with this guy. My phone dings with reply texts, wanting to know who the asshole is that they’ll be riding into battle against.
Grinning, I reply to the group. Be at my house at 8PM. We have prep work to do.
CHAPTER 6
Coen
When you’re drunk, you make stupid decisions. It’s the only plausible excuse.
And yet, in the recesses of my mind, I’m still rational enough to know that being drunk isn’t really an excuse.
There can be no excuse if I go through with this. It’s wrong, bottom line.
It doesn’t matter that my speech is slurred or that I can’t stand straight without my hand gripping the door casing. It has no bearing that Darcy is wearing a dress so low cut I can practically see her navel and that her breasts are so exposed, I can definitely see the rose coloring around her nipples.