Chapter 5 #2
I somehow managed a nod while simultaneously checking I hadn’t actually pissed my sweatpants. A couple of seconds later, I changed my mind and shook my head, the intensity of the moment finally getting to me.
“No. Not really,” I answered, my voice shaking like a leaf. I didn’t know what the fuck I was, but okay definitely wasn’t it. Equal parts terrified and exhilarated came close. I dropped my chin to my chest and tried not to cry. “I think I need a new pair of underpants.”
Tap laughed. “I can’t wait to show Ryder the clip of what you did.”
“What the hell do you two idiots think you’re doing?” The dozer driver was glaring down at me from the back of the flatbed, his hands on his hips, his expression one troubling twitch away from I’m gonna kill this fucking arsehole.
I tried to remember the last time I’d been in a confrontation with anyone outside of Phillip and Judd, and . . . nope . . . nothing. I avoided any form of conflict if I possibly could—refer back to the whole fleeing-Wellington shitshow.
But that was twenty-four hours, a heartbreak, two betrayals, a car crash, and a cute dachshund ago. And this dickhead glaring down at me like I was a pimple on his day was starting to grate on me. My back stiffened and I returned the man’s glare.
“Do you remember Tiananmen Square?” I challenged him.
The question earned a chuckle from Tap, but the driver simply stared at me like I’d lost my mind. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
I gave a disappointed shake of my head. “I don’t know what they teach in high school these days. Then again, maybe you didn’t make it that far.”
“Holy shit,” Tap muttered just loud enough to be heard.
The driver bristled, his face turning a cautionary shade of beetroot. “That’s it,” he spat. “I am so fucking done with you lot. If you don’t get out of our way right now, we’ll move you ourselves.”
Oh, shit. I swallowed hard and mustered some outrage.
“And how, exactly, are you going to do that?” I blustered.
“I have a legal right to protest the . . .” I hesitated, struggling for the right words before they suddenly popped out of my mouth.
“—heavy-handed tactics of a fascist local government.” Thank you, Politics 101.
Tap snorted. “Oh my fucking God, you’re a damn treasure.”
The driver frowned as he replayed my words in his head. “What the hell are you on about?”
I held his gaze. “Would you like me to spell it out for you?”
Tap hooted with delight, and the driver all but growled at the sight of Tap filming him.
“Anything else you’d like to say to the camera as an employee of our elected local council?
” Tap asked cheerily. “Like how you’re supposed to sensitively handle public protest?
Not to mention the fact that your truck, and you, are currently trespassing and will be billed for the damage you’ve already caused.
” He filmed the deep ruts in Ryder’s driveway.
“Tom,” the truck driver warned his colleague, “maybe we—”
“I could have you arrested.” Stu bristled.
Arrested? This wasn’t how I’d seen my day going. I’d never even had a damn parking ticket.
Tap mocked, “I’d like to see you try. I’ve been livestreaming the whole encounter. Who do you think the voting public are going to side with?”
Tom’s gaze narrowed on Tap. “You better watch your mouth.”
Tap’s expression hardened. “Or what? You gonna run me over with your dozer like you’re threatening to do to my friend?” Tap made sure that Stu saw him speaking directly into the microphone.
Tom backpedalled, “I never said—”
“Wait!” Ryder blew around the corner, his phone held high. “I’ve got Tim on the line.” His eyes widened at the sight of me sitting on the ground between the metal ramps, and a grin broke over his face. “Jesus, Thaddeus. You do know I was joking, right?”
I levelled him a look. “Don’t you dare start with me.”
His grin never wavered as he bypassed Tap and headed straight for the driver who was still standing on the truck bed.
“My lawyer wants to talk to you.” He passed his phone to the man, who was clearly reluctant to take it but eventually caved.
I don’t know what the lawyer said or threatened to do to the guy, but by the time Stu handed the phone back to Ryder, Tom’s colour had faded to something just above ashen, and he refused to even look at us.
He jumped down from the truck and spoke in whispers to his coworker.
The two then began reloading the ramps, and fifteen minutes later, they were heading back down the road with their tails between their legs.
“Yeah, fuck off,” Tap called out as they drove off. “Nice doing business with you, arseholes.”
When they were gone, Ryder turned to me with a big grin in place. “Well, well, well, Mister Trespasser. You did an admirable job. I owe you a big thank you.”
My tongue did a twisty thing in my mouth, and my cheeks flamed as those blue eyes danced over my face.
“A dry pair of pants and a bacon sandwich will do just nicely,” I managed and was about to walk away when Ryder’s heavy hand landed on my shoulder to keep me in place.
He leaned around to check my drenched and filthy sweats clinging to my butt.
He tried and failed to suppress a laugh while all I could think was, the man is staring at my butt in a very un-straight way.
I pulled free of his grip and caught the obvious appreciation in his eyes before he could hide it. Damn. I knew attraction when I saw it.
“Would you like some fries with that?” I shot Ryder a challenging look and Tap almost choked on a laugh.
Ryder looked nothing short of mortified. “Shit.” His neck flushed pink. “I’m sorry. That was rude.”
“A little.” I scowled. “I’m not up for games at the moment, Ryder.”
Ryder’s gaze lingered on mine for a moment before he simply said, “Noted. But regarding the dozer thing, that must’ve been scary. I honestly didn’t mean for you to take me literally.”
Now he was just lying, and I eyeballed him. “Oh yes you fucking did,” I threw back in his face. “I think you’d do anything to protect your garden.”
Ryder winced and stepped back. “I . . . that’s not . . . entirely true . . . at least most of the time.”
The steam ran out of me. “Well, I’d be lying if I said it didn’t have its fun moments,” I relented. “And you’re welcome, by the way.” I turned and headed for the cottage, calling over my shoulder, “And you better make that two bacon sandwiches . . . with sausage.”
Ryder could do with that last bit whatever he liked. If the man were wholly straight, I’d eat his fucking gumboots.