I look for a space to pull off so he can go around me, but there are none. We are in the freaking mountains, on curvy road after curvy road. I’m driving ten miles over the speed limit as it is. I’m not going to let him bully me into driving faster.
I hear the rev of his engine, and the blast of heavy metal music from his motorcycle.
Can he be any more obnoxious?
I don’t understand motorcycles. I don’t understand the need to make life any more dangerous than it already is. The asshole isn’t even wearing a helmet.
I shake my head and try to focus on the road in front of me, instead of the man behind me making me equal parts pissed and anxious. But I drive faster. Too fast. I can’t help it. I barely stay in my lane around the next curve.
And I see the bicycler too late.
I slam on the brakes, praying I don’t hit the cyclist. I can’t slow down enough, and another car is coming toward me in the other lane. I have no choice but to pass the cyclist who is hugging the line of my lane.
I squeeze my eyes closed. Stupid, I know. But I can’t watch my car scrape the man off the road.
I open my eyes and glance in my rearview mirror. The man is still on the bike as Mr. Dangerous passes him on his motorcycle. I didn’t hit the car driving the opposite direction either.
I exhale and try to loosen my death grip on the steering wheel. But I won’t be relaxing anytime soon. I see a gravel road leading off the main road, and I take it. I need to get away from the anxiety-inducing motorcycle behind me.
My heart slows as I drive over the bouncy road. I don’t know where the road goes, nor do I care. I just need away.
The road winds up a mountain and stops in a parking lot of a trailhead. I pull the car into one of the last remaining stalls and exhale. A loose hair that had fallen onto my face blows up as I exhale.
And then I hear the motorcycle. I glance in my rearview mirror as the dumbass double parks his motorcycle behind mine.
I’m not confrontational. Not unless I need to be to survive. But I’m livid.
I jump out of my car and march over to him.
“What the hell are you doing? You could have gotten us killed earlier! And you can’t park behind me. That’s illegal.”
He raises an eyebrow with a wicked grin on his face as he stares at me like I’m a child. He folds his arms over his chest, revealing his rippling biceps covered in tattoos.
Figures.
“Sorry, sweetheart. If you don’t know how to handle a car in the mountains, then you should stick to the main highways. They might be more your speed.”
My cheeks puff out as I hold my breath and anger in. I’m sure my face is bright red by now, and my eyes are popping out of their sockets.
“I’m not your sweetheart.”
His head cocks lazily to one side as his smile brightens. “You are definitely somebody’s sweetheart.”
“I’m nobody’s anything.”
He nods. “Good.”
He removes his shirt, and I stare speechlessly at his long legs in running shorts. Damn, his body looks better than any superhero’s I’ve ever seen. He could play Thor easily. His muscles are bigger, his tattoos darker, and his hair is long, like a Greek god.
He smirks and walks closer to me like he knows exactly the effect he has on me.
I can’t fucking speak. That never happens. I always have the words for every situation. I can be a smartass when I want. My voice is my best quality.
It’s sexy and raspy, and everything men want.
His eyes rake over my body. I’m wearing my scrubs. I just got off my shift, and the loose scrubs do nothing to attract a man. I look like a box instead of a voluptuous woman. Although, even the tightest dress in the universe wouldn’t help my cause much. I just don’t eat enough to have curves. My scrubs make me look like a dark green blob. Not sexy. The blood stains and mashed potatoes from a patient last night aren’t helping either.
He winks at me though, and I think he sees something he likes.
No. He’s probably just the type of man who flirts with every woman. He’s not interested in me.