Struck by Stupid (Festive Fun Book 2) by Amanda Bentley

Author:Amanda Bentley [Bentley, Amanda]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Amanda Bentley Books LLC
Published: 2023-01-25T13:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

February 14th

My brows furrow but he doesn’t acknowledge it, pulling his pants and boxers up swiftly. When he starts to buckle his belt, I feel around for my panties before remembering they were destroyed.

I shift my skirt down and fix my torn blouse so my bra isn’t completely exposed, then glance around for the underwear. I’ll dispose of them in the safety of my house. When I look at the floorboard, I find it about as cluttered as it was the first time. There’s an empty pack of cigarettes, confirming the question I’ve been wondering.

Doesn’t he know that smoking kills?

“Here,” he says, dangling the destroyed pink lace underwear in my face. I collect them quickly, my cheeks tinting with the reminder of him ripping them off.

“You’re so cute,” Lorenzo says. I roll my eyes and follow after he clambers out of the car. He straightens the car seat and holds the door open for me.

“Thanks,” I mutter as he shuts it.

I’m delighted that despite his manic driving, he does wear his seatbelt. When he’s backing out of the parking spot, I glance through the window of the bookstore to the table Brad and I occupied.

“Wait! The chocolates!” I point to the shop but Lorenzo keeps the car rolling.

“Were you actually going to eat those?”

“I can’t. Nut allergy. But it feels wrong to just leave them there.” It’s not a full blown allergy; I break out with a rash all over my cheeks and chest. But I don’t like having to explain all that, so saying it’s an allergy is just easier.

“Let the lady who kicked us out have them. She’s obviously not getting laid tonight.”

I swat at his forearm and he chuckles, pulling out of the lot. Then he floors the gas, my head thrashing into the headrest. The roar of the engine as it races down the road has an instant effect on my pulse, and I grip the car seat.

Lorenzo peeks at me then lets off the gas. He obviously remembers my distaste for speeding and cares enough to respect my wishes. Butterflies erupt in my stomach, but I don’t let myself fall for it.

A loose strand of string tickles my chest. “Why did you have to rip my clothes?”

His eyes remain on the road and he’s so silent, I wonder if he didn’t hear me. As I’m about to repeat myself, he speaks.

“I wanted them for me, only.”

“See, you are jealous.”

He shakes his head. “Possessive and jealous are not the same thing.”

He glances at me and catches the puzzled look on my face. “Jealousy has more to do with the other person and feeling inadequate yourself. I don’t have a problem with you dating what’s his name.”

“You know his name.”

“What’s your point?”

“That you’re jealous.”

“Possessive.”

He’s making zero sense right now. “What, you want to own me?”

“I want your total attention.”

“Let me get this straight—you don’t care if I date Brad, but you stormed in on my date.”

He sighs. “I want you to be happy. If Brad would

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