Jackson shrugged. “Yeah, my phone died. I don’t pay much attention, since I mostly use it to keep in touch with Lucie. I’m sort of a caveman in terms of technology.”
Vanessa didn’t point out that he’d told Lucie to have her call him on that phone when she landed. Which she had. Five times. “Huh. Must be nice to be that carefree.” She mentally cringed at the judgment in her voice. Just because she was a little cranky from sitting in the sun while hungry for an hour didn’t mean she could abandon all her manners. “So did you have car trouble or something?”
“To be honest, I was surfing and sort of lost track of time.”
Well, that answers the surfing question. Glancing at his wrists, Vanessa noticed he must have sort of lost track of his watch before leaving home with his dead cell phone. All her pleasantries ground to a halt, and the smile on her face morphed from genuine to a tight imitation. Any warm and fuzzies her lady parts had begun harboring for the MMA stud in front of her went poof.
Rule #7: Never take your responsibilities lightly.
What happened to the responsible, shoulder-the-world man Lucie had always described?
“I wish I would’ve known it was going to be an issue for you to come and get me,” she said, trying hard to keep irritation out of her tone. And failing. “I could’ve just as easily taken a cab.”
He put his hands up, palms facing her in resignation. “You’re absolutely right. I was a thoughtless jerk.”
“I didn’t say—”
“And I totally deserve a thorough tongue-lashing,” he said with another smile, “but let’s do it on the way to my Jeep because I’m double-parked and I’d rather be lectured by an angry woman over a burger and a beer. I’m starving.”
Angry? She’d barely even portrayed miffed, much less angry. But he was on the fast track to front row seats if he kept feeding her bullshit and trying to push her around.
Without waiting for her response, Jackson popped up the handle on her suitcase and walked away. A potent cocktail of shock, panic, and indignation lit up her insides. Before he could take two steps with it rolling behind him, she pulled the bag from his grip. He looked at his hand as though stunned she’d taken her luggage back, then glanced up, a brow cocked in question.
“There a problem, princess?”
Princess? She gritted her teeth. Hell, yes, there was a problem. Several, in fact, not the least of which was him acting like he was running her show. Vanessa couldn’t remember the last time she’d let anyone control her or her circumstances. And she sure as hell wasn’t about to start now.
She’d waited for him out of respect for Lucie, despite wanting to find her own way to the resort. Then when he finally arrived, he thought to whisk her luggage from her, expecting her to fall in line behind him. Then apparently he had plans of stopping for lunch—which actually sounded pretty glorious, but that wasn’t the point. He hadn’t even bothered to ask if she was hungry. Then, after that, who knew, maybe he wanted to stop by his house and do some laundry before dropping her off at the resort so she could help his sister.
It was clear Jackson was the wrong guy to get involved with on any level. If she had time to get her itch scratched while on vacation, she’d have to find a different scratcher.
Vanessa sighed. Meeting the wrong men seemed to be the case more often than not over the last couple of years. Another one bites the dust, Nessie. But now wasn’t the time to wallow in thoughts of never finding her own happily ever after. This week was all about making sure Lucie’s fairy tale came true, and clearly her brother wasn’t on the same page.
“You know what?” she began with a gracious smile—fake though it was. “You don’t need to worry about me. I know Lucie asked you to pick me up, and I’m sorry for your trouble, but it’s not necessary. I’ll just take a cab.”
“And risk the wrath of my baby sister the week of her wedding? No thanks. I’d rather fight a kickboxer without a cup. So come on.” This time he slung the strap of her duffel carry-on over his shoulder and turned to walk away.
“Oh my God!” She jammed her hands on her hips, the incredulity at his arrogance preventing her from doing much else. “You really need to stop taking my things.”
He lifted an eyebrow while holding back an amused smirk. Unsuccessfully, she might add. “Not big on chivalry?”
“There’s a distinct difference between chivalrous and pushy. You are being pushy.”
“Pushy?” He made a face like he’d never heard the word before. “I’m just trying to do what I came here for. I apologized for being late and now—”
“No, you didn’t,” she blurted out before she could stop herself. Remembering every word of a conversation could sometimes put a damper on social situations, but as a prosecutor in the DA’s office it was a valuable asset. And calling dickheads on their “chivalrous” behavior? Priceless.
“Yes, I did.”
She sighed. She’d already hopped on the damn train, so she might as well ride it out of the station. “Uh, no, you didn’t.”