Page 66 of The True Garza

Good. Keep out.

Cocksure asshole.

I can resist you, True Garza. And I’mnotyours.

Thankfully, the dinner meeting concludes in under an hour. Unanimous agreements have finally been reached, handshakes are firmly made, and now we can get the hell out of dodge.

True gets nothing but the cold shoulder from me as we prepare to leave. Though he seems to find it amusing, because no matter how deeply I scowl at him, he just keeps smirking.

Luggage in the trunk, I’m getting into the passenger side of the SUV when he throws the keys at me. They bounce off my chest and clatter to the ground. Before I can curse at him, he’s slipped into the back seat.

The bastard is making me drive again. What a dick!

Cursing under my breath, I scoop up the keys and round to the driver’s side, hop in, and fire up the engine. Then fake-adjust the rear-view mirror so I can spy on him.

He’s sprawled out on his back, face casted in the glow of his phone, fingers moving across the screen.

“You better not be texting some bitch.”

Ah shit. What the hell is wrong with me. When the pathetic stench of the words that recklessly flew out of my mouth register in my brain, all I can do to shake off the shame is hit the gas and speed off of the property, avoiding the rear-view mirror at all costs. There’s no recovering from that.

Mercifully, he ignores me.

The man is a notorious womanizer. Kissing me and running his finger along the seam of my wet panties doesn’t give me exclusive rights to him. Hell, I don’t even have casual rights. All I am to him is a game. He knows I’m hot for him, willing to spread wide for him, and he’s having a field day with it.

Still, he did kiss me, make me wet, and touch my pussy.

Call me crazy, but I’ll fight a bitch for him if it comes to it.

“Chivalry is dead.I do all the driving, and he just sleeps.”

My quiet carping blends with the soft Lo-Fi tunes streaming from the stereo.

I’ve been driving for over three hours now, and while I’m not falling asleep at the wheel or anything, the thought of driving on for another hour makes me want to scream.

“There’s no pleasing you women,” comes from the backseat, startling me.

Wasn’t he snoring a minute ago?

“You fight for all these rights and independence,” he goes on, “and when you get it, you complain.”

“This has nothing to do with women’s rights and independence, and everything to do with you being a lazy dickwad.”

“Lazy.” He snorts. “Never been called that one before.”

“We should at least be taking turns.”

“Not my idea of ‘taking turns,’ but okay,” he mumbles. “Pull over.”

Oh, thank God.

At the first chance I get, I pull off to the side, then climb over the console to the passenger seat.

While he gets out of the back seat and behind the steering wheel, I drop my seat back to get in a quick nap.

“Nuh-uh. No napping,” he says just as I’m about to close my eyes. “You gotta keep me company.”

Seriously?“What? Are you five?”