“Fine.” I get up from the mattress, grab my trash bag by the door, and sling it over my shoulder.

Chapter Four

Chapter Four

Gia

Once outside, Gunner takes my trash bag and dumps it in the bed of a brown, rusting Ford truck. Normally he drives a white Audi to work. So he looks as awkward standing next to it as Dwayne Johnson dressed as the Tooth Fairy. The inky sky makes his azure eyes look softer, and the artificial street lamp kisses his hair, making it appear a shade lighter.

I grab my purse, tread to the passenger side of his truck, open it, slide in, and strap my seat belt over my tiny frame. I sink into the leather cushion.

Gunner jumps in the driver side and turns the key in the ignition. The engine roars to life, and he tugs the lever down, driving onto the cracked asphalt. I need to find a way to break up the sexual tension between us because at the rate I’m going, I’ll combust into tiny pieces.

When I hit the button on the door, the window rolls down, and I hang my arms out as the cool breeze smacks my face. Strands of my hair cling to my cheeks, so I tuck them behind my ear. I like the wind engulfing me as it cools off my burning skin.

Where did Gunner find me a place to stay at? What’s the real reason why he’s helping me? Let’s face it, Gunner is no saint.

Skyscrapers flash by in a blur as we cruise past Central Park, and a police car with flashing blue and white lights wails past us. The city is alive and vibrates as the roads are littered with cars.

I tear my face from the window and glance at Gunner; he taps his fingers on the steering wheel as he hums an eighties rock song.

This version of him intrigues me like the way Sleeping Beauty was hypnotized by the spinning wheel. Honestly, I don’t know what to think of him. If he’s my knight in shining armor then God help me. And I’m not even a religious person. He’s a wolf in expensive sheep’s clothing, parading around here like he’s kind. When he gets a chance, he’ll eat you alive.

I tuck my arms back inside, tap the button on the side of the door and the window rolls up.

Thanks to traffic, forty-five minutes later we turn onto West Eighty-First Street, the Upper West Side, known for the young and rich. This is where the trust-fund kids reside while their grandparents live on the East Side. Gunner parks on the side of the curb and my mouth hangs open so wide a bug can fly in it.