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Damn. It’s a hard chest. I draw back and clear my throat. Where was I?

“You ran over my phone.” Fresh irritation flares, and I crane my neck up to make eye-contact.

He’s so tall I have to step back, which, frankly, is rude as hell of him.

His mirrored aviator sunglasses reflect my irate expression, not to mention how snarled my hair is, thanks to the open car window.

What a douche.

I try combing it back in place, and the man removes his sunglasses… and my mirror. His eyes are a warm whiskey brown, fringed in long dark lashes.

“My phone.” I point at where my phone lies shattered on the ground. Way to go, June, really helpful declaration. “You ran it over.”

“That explains why you’re looking at me like that.” His voice is deep. Gravelly.

“Yeah, it does,” I say, poking him in his rock-hard pecs a second time before looking back up.

Oh.Oh.

The Douche Edition Ken Doll ishot. Stubble lines a defined, square jawline, dark brown eyes set off by a fringe of lashes and thick black eyebrows. For a second, I forget why I was mad at all, my brain stuttering to a bit of a halt as it registers that this man is fine. Like, really fine.

Built and pretty?

Probably has the personality of my dead grandmother’s floral couch, with a face like that. Perfect for sitting on.

No, wait, that isn’t right.

Clearing my throat, I wait, placing a hand on my jutted hip. As good a way as any to hide the way I’m now irritated with myself for finding this absolute douche nozzle hot.

“I’m Dean, and I’m sorry about your phone.” He grins, white teeth flashing, a dimple appearing in his cheek.

It must be a magic dimple, because my irritation vanishes.Poof.

“Hi,” I breathe.

My finger bends now, lying against his chest, not at all pokey. More stroke-y. Embarrassed, I move my hand away, now worried its clamminess has stained his shirt, only to have him catch it. His hand rough against mine, warm and powerful.

“And you are?”

“June.”

He shakes my hand once, somehow firm and delicate, all charm and danger, and a thrill shoots through me. Then, just as abruptly as he clutched at my hand, like it was a lifeline, he drops it.

Charlie sidles up as the other man from the Jeep walks around the front of the it.

“We were about to go in for drinks. And dinner.” I smile, rewarded by another dimple sighting.

Well, mostly drinks, but maybe I’ll eat if he eats. Maybe he’s in the mood for a taco.A special taco.

I blush. What the actual hell is wrong with me?

“This is Pierce,” Dean says, pointing to the guy now checking out Charlie. “And what a coincidence, we were going to have drinks too. And dinner. Maybe I can buy the first round, since…” He trails off, gesturing to the phone, and a fresh wave of irritation surges over me.

I welcome it. Better irritated than trying to jump this dude in the bathroom as a distraction from my hell of a day. That would be gross.

Probably.

“Since you crushed my phone with your monster truck?” I make myself say. It comes out breathy though, not at all pissy like I was aiming for. I tilt my head, a wayward tendril tickling over my cheek. “That seems like the least you could do.”