Hissy Fit (Southern Gentleman 1)

With only a dark smudge on my gray skirt to show for my recent fall, I decided that maybe it would be better to just be late than it would be for me to hurry any faster. I mean, I could fall, break my jaw, and have to go to the emergency room.

Then I’d be really late!

I’d just pushed through the gate that surrounded the track when Ezra’s beautiful Chevrolet parked parallel to the fence.

It—the truck—fit him perfectly.

It was black as midnight and lifted. The only trace of color on the entire truck was the little Chevrolet symbol on the grill, and that was red, white, and blue.

The windows were tinted so dark that I couldn’t see him at first.

And, since I could ignore him if I couldn’t see him, I hurried past his truck and started walking past it to get into the side entrance of the school when the door opened.

At the perfect time.

I was hit square in the forehead and went down so hard that I didn’t even have time to brace for my fall.

One second, I was standing on my feet, and the next I was lying in the dirt staring up at the sky.

“Fuck!” Ezra growled as he hopped out, being careful not to jump out on top of me. “Are you all right?”

Was I all right?

Well, I couldn’t feel my face.

I also knew that my nose was bleeding—or would be the moment I stood up.

Right now I could just feel the blood running down the back of my throat.

“Fuck, you’re gonna have a bruise,” he murmured.

Another one.

My black eyes had healed, and the bruise on my forehead from it meeting the doorknob had finally faded enough to be covered by makeup. But I got a new one every day, so at this point, a bruise was just a bruise. My newest one was on my arm from running into the water fountain of all things. Right now, it was a putrid green that looked like a baby had vomited peas all over my forearm.

I would now be sporting another bruise on my forehead.

Yay.

At least I was getting better with the makeup!

“I’m fine,” I lied, pinching my nose as I made my way to stand.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his large palm going underneath my elbow to help steady me.

He needn’t have bothered.

I was well versed in the art of picking myself up off the ground.

What I was not well versed in was someone being around for the times that my clumsiness got the best of me.

“I’m…”

He took my hand from my nose, and I immediately felt the blood start pouring out.

He hadn’t even hit me in the nose, and it was bleeding.

The traitor.

“Shit,” he rumbled. “Let me get you something from my office.”

When he turned and ran, I did, too.

Only, he caught up to me when I was at the side door of the school, hand on the lever that would take me inside.

I’d have made it, too, had the damn thing not been locked.

When I went for my keys, he shouted for me to wait.

I didn’t.

But he caught up to me anyway.

Damn, the man was just as fast now as he was in high school!

“Wait up!”

I didn’t want to wait up. I wanted to run away and hide in the girl’s bathroom like I did when I was in high school.

My embarrassment was major.

“I’m going to be late for class,” I told him. “And now I have to go to the bathroom and clean up.”

He handed me a towel, and I breathed before putting it on my nose.

He grunted in satisfaction and then started to wipe me off with a baby wipe.

A baby wipe?

“I have them in my office for those times when I don’t take a shower and can’t go straight home,” he answered my non-spoken question. “Are you sure you’re okay? I thought I saw you get into a car?”

I didn’t bother to enlighten him that my car wouldn’t start.

Nor would I question why he was watching me get into my car in the first place.

I finally got my keys out of my pocket and punched the right key into the keyhole, turning it at the same time as he continued to wipe down my face.

“Thank you,” I said once I got the door open. “You’re sweet, but I really have to go.”

He grunted something and allowed me to take the baby wipe without too much of a problem.

I felt him following behind me, though.

“What class do you teach next?” he asked.

I tried not to be hurt that he didn’t know.

The shithead.

He’d only passed it every single day of his life—and smiled at me at that. Was the man that unobservant when it came to me?

I tried not to show him just how dejected I was that he didn’t know me even a little bit.