* * * *
“Did you see that?” Jim Anderson sounded ticked.
“See what?” Denny Metz stared at the car ahead, half-listening as he mulled over the status of his love life. A bachelor’s existence no longer satisfied him the way it once did. Lately he’d begun to feel bored. He needed to find someone special and settle down. He wondered about his date tonight with Leeza Frank. Could this beautiful, curvaceous blonde be the one?
“They flipped us the bird, that’s what!”
Huh? Denny’s gaze met Jim’s straight on. “Who did?”
Jim gestured toward the Fiesta behind them. “Thelma and Louise back there—that’s who!”
Denny chuckled as he glanced at his rear view mirror. Those two girls in the rusty Ford didn’t seem the type. He didn’t care for their driving skills, but that was beside the point. The driver and her friend looked more like Sunday school teachers than a couple of nutty women on the loose. “You’re kidding.” The serious expression crossing Jim’s bearded face instantly sobered him. “I guess you’re not. So then what’d you do?”
With a quick tug, Jim adjusted the bill of his Budweiser cap, his jaw set. “I gave ‘em one back.”
“Aw, man...” Denny intoned. “That’s not cool. You shouldn’t do stuff like that to women!”
Jim’s tanned face flushed, making his short, sun-bleached hair look almost white. “Well, I didn’t want to, but—hey, they started it!”
“So, what’d you do to tick ‘em off in the first place?”
“Me?” Jim pointed a callused thumb at his chest, his eyes wide with righteous indignation. “I didn’t do anything! I was just staring out the back window, minding my own business when all of a sudden the curly-haired one gave me the one-finger salute.” He interrupted himself with a disgusted snort. “I guess I’m not her type.”
Denny couldn’t resist a grin. “With a face like yours, Anderson, I doubt you’re any woman’s type.” He gestured toward the little red Fiesta. “She probably got offended by just looking at that mangy rug you call a beard.”
Jim belted out a good-natured laugh and rubbed a calloused palm along his neatly trimmed jawbone. “She probably would have privileged you with the insult, but I happened to be looking her way. After all, you’re the one driving this sled.”
The Fiesta moved into the right lane, eased ahead by a car length and edged its way back into the fast lane, this time in front of the Ram.
Denny shot into the space the Ford had vacated. “Oh, no, you don’t, lady. We’ve got to get to work.” He cocked one brow. “She apparently has all day.”
Traffic picked up speed. Denny inched his way past the Fiesta until he had enough room to squeeze in front of her. However, once he flipped on his signal, the Fiesta sped up, closing the gap and his hope of surpassing her in the fast lane.
“Ah-h-h!” He smacked the heel of his palm against the steering wheel. “She did that on purpose.” He slowed the Ram and once again fell in behind the little rust-bucket.
“You gonna let her get away with that?” Jim flashed Denny a conspiratorial grin.
Denny glanced at the clock on the dash and let off the gas as traffic slowed again. “We’re running late as it is. I don’t want to hassle her. I just want to get around her....”
The driver in the Ford tilted her side mirror upward. Wisps of chocolate hair framed a rectangular face. Smoldering, deep-set eyes reflected off the glass, locking into his gaze. He studied her for a moment.
So she doesn’t like the way I drive, he mused wryly. That’s an interesting coincidence.
“Watch out!”
Jim’s shout pierced Denny’s thoughts like a shotgun blast, jump-starting him into action. One foot buried the clutch, the other floored the brake as he steered sharply toward the shoulder, but his reaction came too late. In the blink of an eye, Denny Metz’s Ram kissed the back of the little red Fiesta.
Hot Shot Page 2