Page 156 of Blue Gold
He looked away, and I scoffed.
“Unbelievable.”
“What?” He briefly let go of the steering wheel as he opened his palms in self-defense. “I never said I wasn’t.”
“Yeah, you only sent me a letter and tried to kiss me.”
His jaw tensed. “You said you didn’t read it.”
“You still wrote it, you idiot,” I snapped. “It is the thought that is matter,” I added in English when he groaned.
“What does that mean?”
“Learn English and you’ll know.”
He clenched the steering wheel, his knuckles going white. “Stop being an ass and tell me.”
“No.” I crossed my arms over my chest.
“Mon chaton, please—”
“Eyes on the road!” I cut him off, refusing to look at him.
He let out a deep grunt but at least focused back on the drive.
“And I’m not your mon chaton, so stop saying it.”
“Whatever,” he tutted.
What a man-child.
This day couldn’t have gotten any worse. I should never have agreed to go out with him, and now, all I wanted was to get back into my bed.
“Can’t you drive faster?” I hissed.
“The fields have just been harvested, so the roads are full of thorns. If I go any faster, I’ll get a flat tire,” he said before pointing at a car on the side of the road ahead of us. “Just like that moron.”
Annoyed that I had no other option but to bite my tongue and put up with him, I rested my head back against the window and lowered my cap as Jacques pulled up next to the stuck car. Its hazard lights were on, blinding my sight, so I pulled the cap even lower.
“Is everything okay?” Jacques asked after rolling down his window.
“Oh yes. It’s just a flat tire.”
“Need any help?”
Ugh, more time until I’m back in my bed.
“No, I’ve got a spare one in the trunk. Thanks, anyway.”
Jacques told the man goodbye, and we started moving.
Finally—
Wait.
What Frenchman says thanks? And didn’t he have an accent? He sure didn’t sound local. Perking up in my seat, I turned to look back. It was getting dark, but I still managed to see the man’s back. Who on earth wore a suit in the countryside?
My heart paused.
