Elena’s POV

I glare over at the old truck next to me, that damn music still rattling my windows. With the dents and scratches and the bumper hanging on by what looks to be a thread of duct tape, I don’t understand how the truck itself hasn’t rattled apart with how loud the music is.

The windows are tinted but not so dark that I can’t see inside. The driver is leaning back in the seat without a care in the world, a pair of dark sunglasses covering his eyes, looking like he’s not moving anytime soon.

Is this asshole serious?

It’s annoying. He’s annoying.

I bet Kris and Robb must be inside right now, wondering what the hell that loud, obnoxious noise is. I’ll be damned if this asshole is going to ruin my little sister’s rehearsal.

I shove my car door open, march to the driver’s side of the asshole’s truck, and smack my palm against the window.

He doesn’t move.

What the…?

I smack the window again.

No reaction. Not even a flinch.

Is this idiot sleeping?

I smack the window a third time, and…nothing.

I huff, rolling my eyes. Then, because I am off my rocker completely, I knock one last time — only there is no window, and I strike the stranger’s face, knocking his sunglasses askew.

I…I just hit a person!

“Oh shit!” I squeak out, pulling back my hand and slapping it over my mouth.

I just got a divorce, my life is in shambles, I just hit a person, and now I’m probably going to jail for assault. Can my life get any worse right now?

The guy — who looks vaguely familiar, but I can’t quite place him — moves his jaw back and forth from the unexpected hit. He brings his large hand up, his long fingers caressing the spot where my palm met his face. His chest rises and then falls with a heavy sigh.

I hold my breath as he slowly — like at a glacial pace slow — pulls his aviator sunglasses down and pierces me with the most dazzling green eyes I have ever seen. They’re so unique and beautiful that I audibly gasp.

Luckily, preventing even further embarrassment, my hand is still firmly over my mouth, so I doubt he hears it.

His gorgeous eyes are the color of pine narrow, and even that’s not enough to get me to stop staring into them. They are so different than anything I’ve ever seen before. It’s not the color that makes them so unique. It’s a pain and secrets that are hiding within the swirls that make them stand out. This guy has been through things that have hardened him.

A sympathetic frown pulls at my lips because I can understand. I’ve been through things that have hardened me too.

“Are you fucking serious?”

And just like that, my sympathy is gone.

His tone is sharp and dark. And yeah, okay, he might have a reason to be pissed since I did just technically hit him, but still — he’s the asshole who came barreling into the parking lot when there’s a damn wedding rehearsal inside. Rude on its own, but especially rude since he doesn’t even belong here.

“I’m dead serious. Your shitty music is loud and disruptive, and you have no business being here.”

It’s not shitty music. I love the song. Everyone loves the song that’s playing. It’s a crime not to love Queen, but I’m not about to admit that to the jerk.

He lifts a dark brow. “Is that so?”

“Yes! This is a private event.”

“Private event, huh?”

“Yes, and—”

He scoffs…then hits the button to roll his window back up, effectively cutting me off.

My jaw slackens as I stare at the truck, watching him disappear again.

Who the hell does this guy think he is?

I’m about to bang on the damn thing again, but I don’t have the chance. The loud rumble of his vehicle abruptly dies, and he pushes the door open. I jump back so I don’t get w****** with it, though I guess it would be fair if I did get hit.

He slides out of the truck and towers over me. He’s so tall I literally have to tip my head back to look up at him. He reaches up and turns the baseball cap on his head backward, and I’m annoyed with myself for finding the action even remotely attractive, especially since this guy is a total jerk.

Even though he’s wearing those damn aviator sunglasses again, I can feel his heated stare. I glare right back, crossing my arms over my chest, refusing to back down. I try not to think about how ridiculous I probably look right now. I stand at least six inches shorter than him even though I’m wearing heels and am all dolled up in a tea-length dress for the rehearsal.

“This is a private event. What part of private do you not understand?”

I point back at the sign that clearly says the parking lot is closed, but he doesn’t seem to care.

No.

His lips twitch.

He’s amused, and that pisses me off even more.

He leans back against his dirty old truck and crosses his arms over his chest like he’s settling in and not planning to leave when he’s clearly not supposed to be here. “I guess all of it. Can you explain what the word private means?”

I scoff. “It means you’re not invited. You don’t belong here.”

He nods. “And how exactly do you know I don’t belong here? For all I know, it’s you who doesn’t belong here.”

I wave a hand down my outfit. “My attire says otherwise.”

“I see, and why is your attire so important?”

“Ha!” I point the finger at him. “If you belonged here, that wouldn’t even be a question. You’d know exactly why I’m dressed like—”

“Like you have a stick up your ass?”

For the second time since I met this man, I audibly gasp at his words.

A stick up my ass?