Page 2 of Bullied By the Pitcher

“Trust me, I’m listening.”

“Like I was saying…” My sassy, little brat rolled her eyes, not afraid of pissing me off or losing my attention like every other girl on campus. “I’d rather us not… not put in a claim to our insurances. I’ll pay for the damage.”

“I’m going to need a whole new paint job,” I lied. Guilt and relief swirled simultaneously as my well-laid plan started to fall into place perfectly.

“A whole new—” Her eyes widened and then narrowed. “It’s a scratch! Don’t they have, like, paint pens for this kind of situation?”

“Paint pens?” I chuckled. “This is a custom paint job, sweetheart.”

“It’s Roxie,” she cut in. “And of course it’s custom-painted, Richie Rich.”

“It’s Dave to you,” I growled. My whole attitude changed in the blink of an eye. That dark almost demonic thing inside me scratching and clawing to take over. He didn’t like her calling me by some other asshole’s name, even if it was just joking around.

“What?”

“Dave. My name.”

“I know that.”

“Not Richie Rich, so let’s get that right,” I clipped, but if she was intimidated, she didn’t show it in the least.

“Dave. Got it.” She rolled her eyes, and my hand itched to spank her deliciously round ass.

“You really think I’m going to believe you can pay for a new paint job?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She was obviously too pissed to notice just how much closer we swayed towards each other, plus the fact I wasn’t only still holding on to her wrist but stroking her pulse point with the pad of my thumb.

“No offense, babe, I’m looking at what you’re driving, uninsured for a reason.” She opened and shut her mouth, and I smiled on the inside. “Let me guess, one too many DUI’s?” I said like a dick, very well knowing that wasn’t even close to the reason.

My girl didn’t drink.

My girl? I didn’t have the opportunity to process that when she turned a pretty shade of pink with anger.

“What?! No!”

“Speeding tickets?” Again, I knew that wasn’t the case. Jesus, I was an asshole who was about to earn a one-way ticket to hell. It’s not too late. Drop this shit and let her go! She’s too good for you, asshole! the nice guy in me said, but I ignored him.

I was a man with a plan, and it was too late to go back.

“Speeding wouldn’t have been my first guess seeing as I’m pretty sure that thing doesn’t go over forty miles an hour. But hey! Good for you, little Miss Fast and Furious.”

“No! I don’t speed!” She pulled the arm I was still holding on to, and this time, I let it go. She crossed her arms over her chest, once again forcing me to appreciate her body. “I know rich assholes like you probably don’t even bother opening their emails from the school’s bursar’s office, but tuition went up. Again.”

“And that’s my problem how?” She sighed and swallowed hard.

“You hit my car,” she growled. I’d obviously made her lose whatever patience she had left.

“No way to prove that.” I didn’t deny it. Jesus! I was an ass.

“What do you want?” She glowered at me.

“What do I want?” I let myself look at her fully, like the thing inside of me had been dying to. Openly, almost lecherously. “That’s a loaded question. What do you think I want?”

“I don’t know. A date? Seeing as, how weird, you’ve been asking me to hang out with you the last couple of months. This seems a little desperate, don’t you think?”

“One date?” I pretended to think it over before shaking my head. One date wouldn’t be enough. Not anywhere close to enough. “You think one date with you would be enough to cover the paint job?”

“Ferguson.” She sighed.