Free Serendipity by Stacey Bentley Page B

top of my lungs and do a dance with my feet—hopping from one foot to the other. Running back to the truck I pull open the door and slide in head first, my legs hanging out.
    I kick my feet frantically—if there is anything on me, it won’t be there for long. I rest my injured hand on the center console in front of me. Something bushes against my ankle again, sending me into another fit of screams.
    What the fuck?
    I look over my shoulder and see a shirtless Dean chuckling. I give him a confused look but then he holds up a long piece of grass, a proud smile across his face.
    Using my good arm, I pull myself up into the seat and maneuver so that I’m sitting up. I pant, trying to catch my breath. I’m sore as hell and drained already. When I finally manage to calm myself, I glare at the prick.
    “You asshole,” I take a swipe in his direction, but he moves out of the way. “How dare you?” I growl.
    “Lighten up, Barbie, can’t you take a joke?” He shrugs.
    I’m about to rip him a new asshole when I pause. “What did you call me?” he says with a satisfied smirk.
    He looks down at the ground and says something under his breath before looking back up to me.
    “What the fuck did you call me?” I growl out.
    He sighs, and throws his hands onto his hips. He looks around and then back at me. “I called you Barbie.”
    “Why would you call me Barbie ? My name is Phoebe, prick!” I reach over and try to shut the door but my limbs are too sore. I sigh and cross my arms over my chest. I hate being limited in the things I can do. This is not me. I’m Phoebe Andrews, Miss Independent.
    He adjusts his ball cap and watches me struggle before reaching above his head and stretches.
    I lick my suddenly-dry lips and try to pull my eyes away from his chest but it’s no use. The bastard knows exactly what he’s doing. Well, two can play this game.
    “Why is it that you think I call you Barbie?” he asks.
    I’m not stupid. I know exactly why he’s calling me Barbie. It’s like I never heard people call me Barbie in school. Granted it was just the jealous girls but none the less, it still hurts. Sure, I resemble her with the long blonde hair and blue eyes but that’s it. My body, I have to work for. My money, I have to work for. Things were never handed to me, and I wish that people would just realize that if you want something bad enough, you have to work hard.
    I narrow my eyes before turning away. The last thing I want—or need—is this assholes opinion of me. Seven days, just seven more days and I’ll never have to see him again.
    He closes the door when I don’t say anything, and gets into the truck. We drive back to the house without a word spoken between us. When he pulls up the gravel drive, I attempt to get out before he even puts the truck in park. “Wait,” he rests his hand on my thigh and chills run though my body.
    Chills? My body has never betrayed me like this before.
    I look up to meet his gaze and something shifts in the air between us. I swallow past the lump in my throat and focus on his touch. I thought I was turned on while watching him in the field but as hands glide over my bare skin, I realize that was nothing. Heat pools between my legs and I clench my thighs together.
    Why does he have this effect on me? I’m not exactly inexperienced when it comes to men but I’ve never had this kind of reaction to such simple contact.
    Without warning, he quickly pulls his hand away as if he’s been burned. “We need to get inside. Mom’s going to have lunch ready in a few minutes.” Turning off the truck, he hops out and closes the door behind him without looking back.
    He’s not going to help me out? I’ll fall if I try to get out myself and I can feel my pain medication wearing off. The aches and pains are making it damn near impossible to even move.
    I wait in the truck and it doesn’t take long for the rays from the hot sun to heat it up. I reach over and honk the horn. When nobody comes