Hey Jude (Lennox Valley Chronicles #1)

I stare as his arm muscles flex, his grip tightening on the umbrella. My eyes meet his again. He looks more than slightly taken aback at my reaction.

“Whoa, hold up, my problem?” He frowns at me, holding his free palm up toward me with a look of cautious defensiveness on his face. “I was just trying to—”

I cut him off. “Trying to what? Piss me off?” I ask, forcing myself to find my voice and my indignation once again, shoving aside the distraction that momentarily wiped out my ability to speak. “Or make me late? Well, mission accomplished. On both counts.”

“Okay, look, you’ve got this all wrong,” he says in a tone calmer than I can match.

“Oh, do I? You were following me way too closely in this rain! Do you know how dangerous that is?” I try to justify my reaction with logic.

“I was just trying to make sure—”

“That we both died in a rollover?” The sarcasm oozes forth; even I know I’m being a bit much. Still, I can’t stem the flow of salty words coming out of my face.

“No, I—” he tries again.

“Because I need to get to work and I don’t have time for some asshole with road rage trying to get us both killed!”

Now he looks pissed. Good.

“Would you stop interrupting me and let me explain?”

“Explain what? I think I have a pretty good idea. You and that huge truck… You think you own the road!” I fling an arm in the general direction of the asphalt, my eyes wide with accusation.

I know his type. Handsome jerks are the worst kind of jerks.

He rolls his eyes. “You don’t understand.”

My jacket is soaked through and rain drips from the ends of my hair despite my hood. He looks perfectly dry under his umbrella. Smugly dry.

I narrow my eyes. “Oh, I don’t? Well, then go ahead. Explain yourself.” I fold my wet arms over my chest and raise my eyebrows, waiting.

He takes a measured breath. “I was following closely to make sure I didn’t get cut off by another car. I didn’t want to get cut off because I needed to tell you—”

“That what?” I groan, bending my knees and dropping my arms in a full-body show of impatience.

“That you have a brake light out!” he shouts in frustration, pointing at the back of the Jetta, his eyebrows raised.

My mask of righteous indignation falls at his words, my eyes widening suddenly. Oh, shit.

I turn quickly to look at the car, then back to him. Heat rushes to my cheeks and I flush, instant regret flooding through me. Why do I always fly off the handle like this? He was just trying to help.

“Oh,” I manage sheepishly. “I didn’t realize… that’s why you were… I thought… shit.”

He’s watching me with eyebrows raised as the puzzle pieces come together, one by one.

A grimace of regret is painted on my dripping face.

“Yeah. Well, message delivered,” he says with his eyes narrowed. “Don’t let me keep you.”

I look at him with momentary confusion.

He exhales. “You said you were going to be late for work, right?”

“Oh, yes! Oh my God.” In my frustration, I’d gotten carried away and almost forgotten. I turn to leave, then whirl back to him after a step. “Sorry. Thank you. Sorry…”

My embarrassed words tumble out in a pleading tone; I have no way of taking back what I said. And, more importantly, no time.

Without looking back again, I rush to the Jetta and get inside. My heart is racing and I feel nauseated as I start the car. Before I can pull back onto the road, I hear the roar of the truck’s engine as he pulls out around me and takes off, disappearing over the hill ahead.