A brick wall that spills icy-cold liquid all over my shirt.
“Are you freaking kidding me?” I squeal as the juice boxes fall to the floor with a thud. I look down at my white t-shirt, now covered in brown liquid that is rapidly spreading across my breasts. Of course I wore a white t-shirt today. That’s just fantastic.
“Damn it, woman. Watch where you're going.” The brick wall has a voice. A voice that calls me woman like we’re in the nineteen-fifties. A baritone voice that sends a tingle through me or maybe that’s just the freezing-cold liquid that is making my nipples hard.
It also smells like whiskey.
That's stellar. Now I can head to the elementary school reeking like I've been hitting the bottle all morning.
“What the hell? Did you just call me woman?" I look up.
Holy shit.
He looks at me with dark eyes, his expression unreadable. The second I meet his gaze, I swear electricity runs through me from the top of my head to the tips of my toes, a jolt of arousal that's completely unexpected.
He’s bearded and rough-looking, not the kind of guy who works at a desk. He’s the kind of guy who works with his hands. My eyes drift lower as if they have a mind of their own, landing right on his hands, tough and weathered from working in the sun. If I touched his palms, I know they'd be rough and calloused. The thought of what he could do with those hands makes me shiver.
I should be embarrassed by the way my eyes follow the tattoos that wrap around his forearms and snake up to his biceps before disappearing under the sleeve of his t-shirt. I should definitely be embarrassed by the way my eyes linger on the expanse of his broad chest.
Then I come to my senses and stop gawking at the man because he’s the jerk who just spilled booze on me right before I have to be at the elementary school.
And he’s the one who just addressed me as woman.
"You saying you're not a woman?"
The way he said the word a minute ago is hardly like the way it rolls off his tongue now. Now he says the word low and seductive, his voice gravelly.
Or is the seductive part just in my head? Seduction is something that should be nowhere near my brain right now.
“I’m clear on my gender, thanks."
He's so close that I can smell him – soap and aftershave and the outdoors. When I say gender his eyes drop lower and he makes no attempt to hide the fact that he’s looking at my boobs.
“My eyes are up here, Neanderthal,” I say, my voice terse. “Stop looking at my boobs.”
Brick Wall meets my gaze again. “You were looking at mine.”
My face warms as I think about the way my eyes lingered on his chest. “I was not."
“Whatever you say, woman." He squats down to pick up the juice boxes scattered around the floor and places them into a nearby basket. I think I detect a smug smile under his beard like he’s purposely trying to rile me up, and it makes me even more irritated.
I don't bother to disguise the huff that escapes my lips as I grab two juice boxes out of his hands. I definitely try to ignore the heat that rushes through me when my hand grazes his. I'm not attracted to this brute. Not a chance.
“Thanks for the help.” I roll my eyes as I rise to my feet holding the basket.
“Next time, you should watch where you’re going.” Brick Wall turns and walks away with his cup in his hand.
“Now wait just a second.” I follow him down the aisle. “I should watch where I’m going? You’re the one who ran into me.”
“You need to get your facts straight. You ran into me.”
“I did not run into you.” This guy is arrogant, misogynistic, and clearly lacks social skills. I should let it go, but I'm too annoyed. Instead, I follow him to the coffee station where he disposes of his cup and fills a new one with ice. “Maybe you’re having trouble thinking clearly because of all the booze in that cup. And stop calling me woman."
“It’s iced coffee." He empties one creamer after another into the cup until I'm almost certain there's as much cream in there as there is coffee. “What else am I supposed to call you? You didn’t introduce yourself. Where I come from, that’s just plain bad manners.”
“That was obviously not just iced coffee. I smell like a distillery."
He doesn't say anything. He holds a handful of at least five sugar packets and rips the tops off of them, his eyes focused on mine. Then he winks.
Forget it. I don't have time to stick around here making small talk with a philistine. I stomp to the front of the store and set my basket full of juice boxes on the counter. “There are twenty-four in there. I’m kind of in a rush.”
I grit my teeth as Connie rings the juice boxes up slower than I think anyone’s ever done anything ever. This is just another reason I’ve been avoiding getting any supplies here if I can help it.
Then I realize I forgot my purse. Could this day get any worse?
Behind me, Brick Wall clears his throat. “Bourbon."
“Excuse me?”
“In the coffee."
“Bourbon in the middle of the day?"