He stands up and glares down at me. "Do you think you can stand up?"
I nod my head, expecting him to gallantly hold his hand out to me. It doesn't come and after a few seconds, I realize it's never going to come. So I push myself up from the ground, brushing blades of grass from the seat of my jeans.
"I'm assuming you're okay?" he asks.
I nod my head. "Yeah. It just freaked me out when I thought I had killed you. I've never fainted before."
"You didn't faint," he snaps. "You just got a little wobbly."
Okay. What was this ass**le's problem?
"You think I'm an ass**le? You just ran me and my bike over."
Oh, crap. Did I voice that ass**le comment out loud? Apparently, my brain is a little more addled than I thought.
I take a deep breath and then I start rambling...like an idiot. "I'm really sorry. I was distracted. I'm getting these crazy, stalker messages from my ex-boyfriend, and I'm afraid there may be a dead rabbit in a pot when I get back to my apartment. And then I got a call from my sister-in-law, but I know that's no excuse. I thought I had looked. I'll pay for the repairs. Are you injured?"
He's looking at me as if I was an alien. He shakes his head and sighs. "Let's go see what the damage is."
I follow him back over to our vehicles. My back bumper is crumpled in but his bike is a mess. It's dented all over and the front wheel is turned at a weird angle.
I can't think of anything to say, so I offer lamely, "It's a beautiful motorcycle."
He looks at me incredulously. "It was a beautiful motorcycle, you mean."
"Yes, that's what I mean," I respond politely. I feel like such a tool.
"Look, just give me your insurance information and we won't even bother to call the cops."
What? No! He cannot have my insurance information. You see, I've had a little problem with speeding tickets back in Boston along with two other wrecks, that technically were my fault but I could push some blame too on the other drivers if I was that type of person. Which I'm not...anymore. If I get any more insurance points, I can probably kiss my license goodbye.
"No. We can't put it on the insurance," I say adamantly. "I'll pay you for the damage myself."
He smirks at me and it makes me want to slap his face.
No, kiss his face.
Wait...definitely slap his face.
"Lady, do you know how much that motorcycle costs? There's no way you can afford it out of your pocket, and I don't care how much designer clothing or expensive jewelry you wear."
"For the second time, my name isn't Lady. It's Emily," I grit out. "And for your information, you have no clue what I can and can't afford."
"Do you have about $10,000 you can cough up?" he asks. "Because that's what it's going to cost in materials and labor. The front axle is completely destroyed."
Ten-freakin-thousand-dollars? Oh shit, I was in trouble. There is no way I can come up with that amount at one time. My parents let me draw two thousand dollars a month from my trust fund if I need it but he would have to agree to accept payments.
I put on my most conciliatory face. "Look...I am really, really sorry I did this. But I cannot put this on my insurance. I'll lose my car if I do."
"And this is my problem how?" he taunts.
"It's not. I'm just asking you for a little understanding. I can pay you in installments. Two thousand dollars a month until we are square." I end on a pleading tone but I can't help it. I have no room for pride here.
I watch fascinated as he runs a hand through the hair on top of his head, pulling the long locks back and holding them there. His hair is long enough he could put it in a short ponytail if he wanted. With his hair pulled back, his face is thrown into stark relief, so that his sculpted cheekbones say, "BAM" to me. The angels were definitely singing on the day this guy was created.
I wait with baited breath.
He finally releases the hold on his hair and it gracefully glides back around his face. I wonder if it's as soft as it looks.
"Fine. But I need your information so you can't welsh on me."
As if. "Fine, whatever."
I pull my wallet out and he copies down my license information. I give him my phone number, and he gives me his.
"What's your name?" I ask, so I can program it in my phone.
"Nix."
"Nix what?"
"Just Nix...that's all you need to know."
This man is infuriating. Hot, but infuriating. "Then how can I make a check out to you if I don't know your last name?"
"You don't," he says in a low, husky voice. "Bring me cash. Just call me when you have the first two thousand. I expect it within thirty days or else I'll come looking for you. And trust me...you don't want that to happen."
A shiver involuntarily runs through me and I can't tell if I'm scared or turned on by the danger in his voice.
And even though I'm pissed as hell that I've just blown $10,000 over my own stupidity, I can't help the fact that I'm looking forward to seeing this man again.
CHAPTER 4
Emily
I knock on Danny and Ryan's door and wait for them to open it. I've finally gotten my heart rate under control after that terrifying but surreal experience with Nix.
And what the hell kind of name is Nix anyway?
The door is thrown open and Ryan is standing there. I throw my arms around his neck and he picks me up, swinging me around.