Paper Hearts [ON HOLD]

[1]

          "Fuck off," Blondie refused my charitable offer with his obviously colorful choice of words as he turned back to fixing his tire—palpably not knowing how to properly replace the flat one he previously had, "I don't need help; especially not from prissy English princesses like you."

I was tempted to lash out a comeback but held my tongue nonetheless as I continued to watch him struggle with the assorted tools his luxury car came with.

It was funny to watch actually—it was obvious that this boy had everything done for him.

He let out an infuriated sigh as he came to realize that he was hopeless in changing his freaking tires. As soon as his eyes find mine, he almost growled in annoyance and I bit my lower lip to refrain myself from laughing, "What are you still doing here?"

I simply rolled my eyes before pushing him out of the way—more like elbowed a brick wall since the elbow that touched his chest hurts like heck. 

At least he's got something right going on, I though to myself as my eyes wandered down to his torso.

"Careful not to break a nail, princess," he mocked and I clench my fists at my sides, refraining myself from a punching this ungrateful douche bag with no respect whatsoever.

Here he was in the middle of freaking nowhere—no lights, no trees, no houses—with nothing but his flashy Maserati with a flat tire with a human humble enough to help him aka me. But here he was being a stubborn wanna-be bad ass and refusing any kind of help when he obviously needs it the most.

"Men and their ego," I muttered under my breath as I squat down until I was level with the tire.

This jackass doesn't even have a jack for crying out loud!

"What the f—" I stood up with the large silver wrench on my hands and turned towards him with a murderous glare that stopped him from finishing his sentence.

"Look here, fuckface," I hissed, pointing the edge of the wrench inches away from his face, "I'm only trying to help you here because your precious daddy can't answer your calls. Now if you don't shut the hell up, this tool will not only loosen up the lug nuts but cut off yours too."

And with those last words of mine—with the help of the sharp wrench—he miraculously shut his mouth and concentrated as I continued to work on his flat tire.

I didn't even bother putting on a protective glove as I held the jack in my hand and I, without a doubt, dove right under the car to place the jack as it lifted the car slightly off the ground.

A few moments passed before I successfully finished changing his tire without a scratch and I unexpectedly threw him the wrench which he unbelievably caught with one hand.

I dusted my hands on the back of my pants before smirking smugly in front of him, "Before you call me a princess, first make sure you aren't one."

Without waiting for his response, I headed for my car but not before I felt his fingers wrapped around my wrist. His fingers were so cold it made shiver involuntarily—something I wish he didn't see.

"I don't let anyone insult me," his jaw was clenched—defining it even more.

"Well, I don't either." I glared back at him as I hastily pulled my arm away from his iron grip. That would totally bruise tomorrow. "But I guess there's a first for everything."