when we met. a/accident.

I have the worst luck ever. Was it too much to ask to make it home without anything going wrong? All I wanted was a glass of wine and a hot bath. But nooo. Worst luck ever.

I rounded the corner at Main and Park, just a few blocks from home. I hit the brakes as soon as I saw a car backing up toward me. Clearly the driver was trying to park on the side of the road. Illegally. And clearly he didn’t see me because when I stopped, he didn’t.

The shatter wasn’t horrible, but it was enough. “Dammit,” I mumbled to myself as I pulled over. Why was this idiot trying to park here?! I whipped my door open. I twisted around and slammed it closed harder than was necessary. I was angry. I climbed over a row of flowers, nearly tripping and falling on my face, to meet the idiot driver on the sidewalk.

I stopped when I reached him. He stood with his back to me, looking over the damage. But I didn’t wait for him to turn around before speaking. “Why the hell…” I began, “were you trying…” Before I finished my rant, he turned to face me. My words died on my lips and my jaw nearly hit the sidewalk.

“Go ahead and finish,” he said, smiling at me.

I stared at him without saying a word. He was fucking gorgeous and he knew it. He’s enjoying this. How dare he smile at me like that! But I had to stand my ground. “I was going to say… uh…” I tried to continue sounding angry, but I knew I was failing. “Why the hell were you trying to park here?”

“Aw, you were doing so well the first time,” he said, letting out a little laugh that was far too sexy. “Maybe you could try that again? You know, with more feeling this time?” Another smile, which, at that moment, both annoyed and melted me.

“Well,” my words turned into a mumble, “it was your fault.”

“I just wanted to go in there,” he said, pointing over his shoulder to my favorite coffee shop, “to get a cup of coffee.”

“Maybe you should have tried the parking lot?” I was flustered, but apparently, my sarcasm knows no bounds.

He grabbed my shoulders and turned me to face the lot. “It’s kind of… full.”

What the hell was he doing touching me? How am I supposed to stay mad when Mr. Fucking Perfect is touching me and sparks are racing through my entire body?

“Oh.” I turned back to him, disappointed that his hands fell away from my shoulders. “I guess we should exchange information.”

“Is this your way of asking me for my number?” he asked.

Cocky bastard. “What? No!”

“Relax,” he said, touching my arm. “I’m just teasing you.”

How embarrassing. I stood in silence staring at his stupidly perfect face.

“Why don’t you give me your info and I’ll send you a check for the damage?”

“Is this your way of asking for my number?” I teased him.

“Yes.” He admitted it without any shame or embarrassment whatsoever. And he knew he made me nervous.

“Wait a minute,” I finally came back to my senses. Sort of. “I have no idea what this is going to cost to fix.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll give you enough.”

“Look, Mr. Moneybags, with your fancy car and your perfect hair, I don’t want your money.”

I felt my cheeks burning at my own words. And he smiled. “So you admit this was your fault?”

“No!”

He laughed. “I’m sorry,” he said, “but you are so much fun to tease.”

I glared at him, but it had zero effect on him.

“I’m Spencer. And you are…?”

“Aaa… Ashley.” I couldn’t even spit out my name coherently. Damn him.

“Ashley. I’d like to take care of this for you. And get some coffee.”

“Right. Should I just wait here while you get your caffeine fix?”

“Why don’t you let me buy you a cup of coffee?” he asked, flashing that killer smile again. “Or would you rather yell at me again?”

“No, I’m good with the yelling. For now.” I found myself smiling, too.

“So, coffee, then?”

I let out an exasperated sigh, complete with an eyeroll.

“Fine.”

—♥—

p.s. — I’ve decided to send my “hot guy at the end of every post” on hiatus until after the a-to-z challenge is over. You know, since I’ll be featuring a hot guy in every post already.

Hot guy: model unknown (but he can hit my car anytime)

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