The Fighter (The High Rise, Book 1) (29 page)

And that was
the precise moment I think steam had shot out of my ears. I reached
down and jerked up on the trunk release because
fuck that
.
Then I’d thrown open my door and saw the guy jump out of the way. I
walked to the back of the car, raised the trunk, pulled back the
carpet and removed the jack then went to the side where the tire
was flat, put the jack down and started loosening the lug nuts with
the tire iron.

“Whoa! What do
you think you’re doing?” Jerkface asked, having come around to the
side of the car where I was.

“Well,
Prissy Rich Bitch
here is changing her tire if you haven’t
figured it out,” I muttered glaring up at him. And my eyes got
great big when I saw that
both
his arms were covered in
tattoos. Whoa. And why that made him even hotter, I had no
idea.

That was when
Kim, Jr. huffed and called the guy an asshole (with which I
couldn’t disagree), then she called me a stupid cunt (with which I
totally took offense) and my mouth fell open as I watched her stomp
back to the truck in her strappy wedge sandals, her ass cheeks
totally hanging out from under her shorts. Wow. Classy babe.

“At least let
me help you with that,” Tattoo Guy said, ignoring his
girlfriend.

The glare I’d
given him had him holding up his hands to his sides in surrender,
his eyebrows raised as he grinned at me. I know I must’ve looked
like an idiot with my long, blond hair soaked and hanging in my
face, my cute, white cotton romper, which was sticking to me
everywhere and was now probably ruined as I’m sure were my very
awesome, white ankle-high gladiator sandals, but I’d be damned if I
was going to let him help me now after he’d made me out to be some
helpless female.

When he hung
around, I muttered, “Go away,” as I positioned the jack and twisted
the handle. Once I got the car jacked up, I realized he still
hadn’t left so I stood and turned to him, putting my hands on my
hips. “What?”

The perusal he
gave me made the butterflies kick up again. Stupid fucking half
grin. I frowned at him then moved back to the tire and proceeded to
take off the lug nuts. When I went to remove the tire itself, he
stepped in, took it off the wheel and rolled it to the trunk as I
followed, telling him I had things under control and that he should
just leave now.

“Can’t have
you getting yourself all dirty, now can we?” He’d looked me up and
down appreciatively and that’s when I realized he could see
everything through my outfit.

Shit! I hadn’t
bothered wearing a bra because the romper had a built-in shelf bra,
and I’m sure I was giving him quite the show, knowing my nipples
had gotten perky at his heated gaze. But now I had to own it. So
taking a deep breath, I leaned into the trunk to remove the spare,
but he pushed me aside gently and reached in for it. And, God, he
smelled good, all fresh rain and hot man. Damn it.

“I can handle
it. Really. Why don’t you and Luscious take off?” I mumbled.

He set down
the tire, appearing confused, then asked, “Luscious?”

“Your
girlfriend. Isn’t that her stripper name?” I smiled sweetly at him
hoping that’d make him mad and he’d finally leave, but instead,
he’d barked out a laugh then proceeded to roll the tire to the
front. I sloshed through the rain behind him then watched as he
finished changing it, none too happy about it.

“That’s it,”
he said when he finished, putting everything back in its place in
the trunk. Then his eyes landed on me, once again moving up and
down my body making me want to cover myself with my arms but
refusing to do so, and after wiping his hand on a rag held it up
for me to give him a high five. “Nice working with you.”

A high five?
Really? Maybe he did think I was fifteen. “Uh, yeah,” I replied
moving my hand slowly up to touch my palm to his.

He ended up
grabbing my hand during the high five, and I swear, this is so
cliché, so stupid chick lit banal, but I honestly felt a damned
jolt go through me when we touched. I think he felt it too because
he looked at our hands, scowled for a second before scrutinizing me
closely then let my hand go.

His
honey-brown eyes stared in thought into my green ones for a moment
before that sexy grin hit his gorgeous face again. “Well, Miss
Priss, I might be seeing you around.”

“I’ll be
waiting breathlessly until that moment.” At my sarcasm, he grinned
again. I rolled my eyes and said, “So… thanks for the help.” I’m
pretty sure he heard the muttered, “Jerk” I tacked on, but to his
credit he didn’t say anything as I closed the trunk and rounded the
car to get inside, but before I could pull my door closed he was
there holding it open.

“You go to
Hallervan?” he’d leaned down and asked, and, God, those eyes, that
face… that body. My lord he was hot.

“Starting this
semester,” I answered still trying to pull my door closed.

“Maybe you’ll
get lucky and see me.” He winked then walked away.

“One can only
hope,” I’d mumbled, rolling my eyes again, before closing my door
and driving away.

It was then I
looked down and saw my ruined outfit and sandals only then
remembering I had an old pair of Keds and a raincoat under the
passenger seat. Great.

Copyright © 2014 Harper
Bentley

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About the Author

USA Today Best
Selling author Harper Bentley writes about hot alpha males who love
hard. She’s taught high school English for 23 years, and although
she’s managed to maintain her sanity regardless of her career
choice, jumping into the world of publishing her own books goes to
show that she might be closer to the ledge than was previously
thought.

After traveling
the nation in her younger years as a military brat, having lived in
Alaska, Washington State and California, she now resides in
Oklahoma with her teenage daughter, two dogs and one cat, happily
writing stories that she hopes her readers will enjoy.

You can contact
her at
[email protected]
,
at harperbentleywrites.com, on Facebook or on Twitter
@HarperBentley

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