“You need to know about boundaries!” she says matter-of-factly as I clutch my balls for dear life.
“This is my space.” She draws an invisible line with her fingers.
“That is your space, so please don’t cross it unless invited. The more important question is, who is going to pay for the damage?” she asks casually, like she just didn’t knee me in the fucking balls.
“You’re psycho!” I screech, trying to stand up.
“I’ve been called much worse. Just give me whatever cash you have on you,” she demands. I have never had the urge to hit a girl before and she’s the first, but it’s nuts because I’ve never wanted to kiss one so badly before either. She smiles widely at me as if she can read my mind.
“You know what, it doesn’t matter. I have somewhere to be and this isn’t even my car.” She laughs, opening her door and hopping in.
“Wait!” I plead. She looks at me indifferently as I hobble over to her.
“You can’t just leave me here!” We’re on the highway in the middle of nowhere.
“Why not? Your friend did,” she says through a laugh, and I remember how bad I’m going to kick Travis’ ass.
“I don’t have my phone, I left it in the car.” She glares at me, both bored and unphased.
“I got out of the car to make sure you were alive. Do I get any points for that?” She’s staring at me now, eyes narrowed in on me, contemplating.
“If you try anything funny I’ll run us both off the road,” she says with a wide grin that’s both fantastic and terrifying. For a moment I think I’m better off walking.
“Get in if you’re coming!” I stagger my way over to the passenger door and hop in. The car is a beast, aside from the damage in the front. It’s black-on-black interior and smells just like money. She zooms off after turning her radio on and blasting the music. I look over at her, she looks about twenty-one or twenty-two. She’s hot and knows it. She’s as sexy as a stripper but has this air about her where she could be a spoiled trust fund kid. I’ve had both types of girls but there’s something different about this one and it’s nagging the shit out of me.
“Are you headed to the city?” I ask finally.
“Which one?” she replies dryly.
“Chicago,” I say, as if it’s obvious.
“Maybe,” she says shortly, and it’s irritating. I’m not used to being around a girl who doesn’t give me their full attention, and she’s acting like I’m a nuisance.
“Do you normally crash people’s cars and knee guys in the balls?” I ask lightly.
“Do you normally get ditched in the middle of nowhere and practically try to kiss strangers on the side of the road?” she counters.
“I did not try to kiss you,” I tell her defensively.
“Good, because that would have been a pretty pathetic attempt.” Damn she’s mean.
“It’s one thing to kick a guy in the balls, now you’re just stomping on them,” I joke, and that gets half a grin from her.
“So is this your boyfriend’s car?” I ask curiously and she glances over at me.
“Sugar daddy’s,” she says without missing a beat, and my heart sinks. Of course the one girl I’m attracted to is one step away from becoming a prostitute.
“I’m kidding. Having some wrinkly guy on top of me that smells like Bengay would make me puke.” She laughs and I join in.
“Stripper?” I ask, half serious, and she rolls her eyes.
“Thief actually. You’d be surprised how easy it is to steal from men when they’re thinking about screwing you,” she retorts.
“Are you serious?” I ask, amused.
“As a heart attack,” she purrs, and I push my hands in my pocket to make sure my wallet isn’t missing. She giggles, catching me.
“Uh, maybe you should slow down,” I tell her, putting my seat belt on once I notice she’s going over 90.
“Don’t be a pussy, I’m running late,” she says easily.
“Pussy? Sweetheart, you have no idea how wrong you are,” I tell her with a chuckle.
Not less than five seconds later a cop is behind us with flashing lights. It looks like a state trooper. Great, just fucking great. I wait for her to slow down but instead I see the speedometer creeping up.
“Are you going to pull over?”
“The thing is, I didn’t exactly tell him I was using this,” she says after turning the radio down.
“You’re shitting me!” I spit.
“I told you I’m a thief,” she says indignantly. I burst into laughter out of both nervousness and the ridiculousness of this situation.
“I can outrun him,” she says, as if it’s no big deal.
“He’s going to call for backup!” I yell at her.
“I’ve done this before. It’s fine,” she says, like it’s the easiest thing in the freakin world. I put my head between my legs and prepare for both of our asses to be hauled off to jail.
I don’t know how much time has passed when I feel fingers graze the back of my neck. I shove them away even though it wakes up every part of me. I raise my head and see her smiling, an amused glint in her eye as she looks at me. I sit up and look behind us and don’t see a cop car in sight
“How did you do that?” I ask her, shocked.
“I have a lot of experience running,” she answers, and for the first time her words aren’t clouded with confidence and sarcasm. But I still think she’s batshit crazy.
“How far are we from Chicago?” I ask, relief flooding through my body.
“My GPS says two hours,” she responds.
“Good,” I mutter, sliding back into the plush leather. My heart has never beat so fast in my life.
“You didn’t shit yourself did you?” she asks, chuckling.
“I came pretty fucking close,” I tell her, half angry, half turned on.
“If they would have caught me I would have told them you had nothing to do with it,” she says innocently, and nothing about this girl is innocent.
“And if it helps, the guy I stole this car from is a complete prick and won’t even realize it’s gone until next week some time. Some people have way more than they should,” she mumbles, and I know she’s venting more than offering me an explanation. After a few moments of silence her phone rings, which she promptly declines.
“Boyfriend?” I quip.
“I’m a lesbian,” she responds straight-faced, and I can’t stop the smile that spreads across my face.
“Only because I fuck myself.”
I went from being turned on a little to being turned on a whole lot, but push those thoughts out of my head.
“What’s your name?” I ask, changing the subject.
“Isn’t that a personal question?” She seems offended.
“Only if you’re a fugitive,” I tease her, and she giggles.
“Jennifer,” she says quickly, and I look at her knowing that she spouted off a fake name.
I let my window roll all the way down and relish the wind.
“The air’s on—why are you putting the window down?” she asks curiously.