“Hey, Gender Studies is important. So are all the humanities, in fact, and studies show that defunding those programs leads to undereducated populations who vote against their own interests and regress socially and societally.”
“Thanks for proving my point.” He winks.
I groan and cross my arms. Something about this man frustrates me to no end. So I raise my chin and blurt the first retort that comes to mind. “Well, I can certainly guess a few things about you, too.”
His eyebrows arch, his smile turning playful. “Oh really. Do tell.”
I tilt my head and pretend to scrutinize him. Then I actually scrutinize him, because damn, he’s only wearing a simple white collar shirt, unbuttoned at the throat, but in this light I can tell he’s ripped. And the sleeves are rolled up past his forearms, which bristle with lean muscles, the veins standing out around hands that look scraped raw on the backside. Something inside me tightens at the sight of those hands, with his big, strong fingers.
The things this man could do to me… The thought rises, unbidden, and I choke it down with effort, trying to keep myself focused on the task at hand.
“You work with your hands,” I say. “Probably went to a trade school, which before you think I’m insulting you, I think is a smart and important move, because we need trade workers in this country more than ever, and there’s nothing wrong with hard work for honest pay.” His eyebrows rise, and he blinks as though taken aback. But I ignore him, because I’m on a roll now. “But you probably have a chip on your shoulder and act like a jerk to anyone who did go to college because of that,” I add. My gaze drifts past him to the car behind him. “This car is your baby—you take care of it, treat it well, because you probably don’t have anyone else at home to dote on, no girlfriend or wife or anything.”
He snorts. “Presumptuous of you.”
“Tell me I’m wrong, then.” I smirk.
He shakes his head, just a little. But he’s grinning, too. At least it’s better than his scowl. And, fuck, I was right—the man is positively devastating when he smiles.
I’m about to offer a hand and introduce myself, when footsteps crunch on the driveway behind me.
“Your mother said you were looking for me?” my father calls from just a few paces away. My heart does a funny little flip, as I realize that I’d been hoping Dad wouldn’t find me after all. At least not until I finished flirting with this guy.
But now I remember where we are, why we started talking, and I wince. “Um, yeah, sorry, Dad, there’s been a bit of a—”
“Your daughter wrecked my car,” the man interrupts me, with a gesture toward his vehicle.
My father lets out a groan, glancing from me to the damage and back. “Selena, is this true?”
“It was an accident,” I protest.
“And have you offered to make amends for it?” Dad asks, crossing his arms over his chest, in a posture that I’ve long since come to recognize as his “time to teach my daughter a lesson” face.
“I tried to—”
“Actually, she was just insulting me.” The man’s grin widens.
Now it’s my turn to glare at him. The nerve. “He started it,” I mutter, and the second I do, I realize it was the exact wrong thing to say.
“Selena Brown.” My father draws himself up to his full height, stern and glowering. “Surely your mother and I raised you with more manners than this.”
“It isn’t like it sounds,” I protest. “We were joking, I thought. I tried to offer to pay for the damages—”
“Oh, and with whose money?” My father’s eyebrow arches wryly over the line of his spectacles.
I grimace. “Look, Dad, you know I can only barely afford rent.” Grading papers for TAs and professors at my alma matter doesn’t exactly pay many of my bills. But I’m trying to get a freelance editing career off the ground, to take more jobs wherever I can find them.
“So you offered mine, is that it?”
I chew on the inside of my cheek. “Well… what else could I do?” I finally reply.
“You did tell me you thought you could probably fix the damage yourself,” the man butts in, at the least opportune moment possible. I’m starting to notice he has a knack for doing that.
I fire a glare his direction, hoping at the very least it will shut him up. But instead, it only seems to encourage him. He actually has the nerve to wink at me.
“In fact, I think that might be the best option. After all, if you’d have to borrow money to cover the damage, I wouldn’t want to impose on Mr. Brown…”
My face flushes. “But… I…”
My father, much to my chagrin, starts nodding. “You know what, Antonio, I actually think that’s a great idea.”