Grey_The Encounter by Allison White

Author:Allison White [White, Allison]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Limitless Publishing LLC
Published: 2018-05-14T16:00:00+00:00

***

“Couldn’t you have been at least a tiny bit more defiant?” he says, looking me from the corner of his eyes. “Like, maybe wear jeans that have a tint of shit brown, like the atrocities you are wearing right now?” His dark eyes take in my outfit of pressed khakis, a white cashmere sweater, and a pair of gray Toms. I turn my head from the window and flash him my teeth in a brazen smile.

“I dress how I want to. Friends or not, you can’t control what I wear.”

“Oh, yes I can.” He rummages in his jeans pocket before pulling out a lighter. “With this. One flick and boom!” He flicks open the tab. I gasp and lean over the center console to close it. His face is facing mine. The car has stopped. I want to wipe off his obnoxious but contagious smile. “Horrible wardrobe in flames.”

“Then it’s a good thing this won’t be in your possession anymore,” I say and grab the lighter, scrambling out of the car. He shouts after me, and I let out a string of laughter as I watch him climb out with a scowl. It should scare me. Make me uneasy. But all it does is make me laugh. Even more when he pushes against me, reaching behind me for the lighter.

“Give it back, Princess,” he gripes. I lean back, and he leans forward.

“No. How about this: I give it back when you hand over my phone?” I suggest, raising my eyebrows.

He lifts his mouth and shakes his head. “How about this: I wrestle you for my property and you don’t get your phone back.”

“I don’t like that situation quite as much.” I playfully shake my head. He eyes me with those cool, black eyes of his but says nothing more. I wink and turn around, slipping the lighter in the front pocket of my pants. I find myself staring at a rusty sign labeled ‘Hardy’s Auto Shop.’ The H is hanging on by a thread.

“I gotta get it fixed, I know. Hold off on your critiquing,” a rough voice says. I lower my gaze. A man that can’t be at least two inches taller and a few years older than me is smiling at me like I just announced he won the lottery. I take note of his navy, oil-splattered jumpsuit and tattoo of a dragon on the side of his neck. His reflective bald head shines under the intensity of the sun hanging above. He stuffs the dirty rag he was wiping his hands with in a pocket on his chest. “I’m guessing you’re Olivia?”

“How’d you know?” I flick my eyes over to Grey, who is grumbling under his breath as he furiously rubs at the back of his neck. The notion is endearing in every way. And I begin to wonder how much I could mean to him, really, if he’s told two of his friends—I’m guessing this man is his friend—about me.

I drag my eyes back over to

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