Page 10 of Fourth Wheel

The girl has the audacity to look me in the eye and pout.

“Seriously? That’s it? You’re not going to walk me to the door?”

“Get out of my fucking car!”

The volume of my fury surprises me, but my outburst has its intended effect. Her bratty smile is replaced with a surly scowl.

“Sheesh, Haas. I was just teasing.” She shifts forward and opens the door.

I should let her go. That’s what I want, right? To get her out of my car and to erase the memory of this entire night from my mind?

But curiosity gets the best of me. “So youdoknow who I am?”

She gets out of the car but turns to me and nods.

“And you know who my brother is?” I push.

She shifts her weight from foot to foot.

“Of course I know who he is. He looks just like you.” She pops one hip and crosses her arms over her chest.

I find my eyes wandering in search of that hint of cleavage she’s been teasing me with all night but avert my gaze quickly when I remember what’s happening here.

“So given everything you know about my brother… and about what happened last spring…”

She’s regarding me with a less-hostile, almost confused expression now. I don’t know what I’m trying to accomplish by lecturing her in her own damn driveway, but I feel compelled to put her in her place.

“You knew who I was when we started talking at The Oak tonight. And I think it’s safe to assume you knew I didn’t know who you were. So you were what—looking for trouble? Provoking me? Stirring the pot?”

She shrugs and glances toward the house for a few seconds before answering. “I don’t see what the big deal is. I’m not my brother…”

“Obviously,” I deadpan.

“And you’re notyourbrother,” she snaps.

Interesting.

Little miss spitfire can dish it out, but she doesn’t know how to take it.

We stand there for a beat, glaring at each other. I say nothing, because there’s nothing left to say.

Pulling one over on me didn’t work. She’s not sorry; she’s just sorry she got caught. She can stomp and pout all she wants. We’re done here.

“Close the door, please,” I instruct, trying to sound cordial as I put the car in reverse. But instead of doing as I ask, she swings the door open farther, plants her feet, and brings both hands to her hips.

“What the fuck is your problem? I thought we were having a good time. There’s no reason you can’t come in and do what we were planning to do, Dempsey.”

I scoff at her boldness and the absurdity of what she’s implying. But what did I expect? She’s a child. A little girl. A spoiled princess who’s used to getting her way.

“No can do, princess. It’s been real. Don’t ever talk to me again.”

I let the car ease back a few inches so she knows I’m serious about leaving. She finally takes a step back to prevent the door from hitting her. Once she’s out of my way, I whip out of the driveway so fast the passenger door closes on its own.

Good fucking riddance.

Chapter 7

Dempsey