Sweet Consumption

Chapter 2

I'm about halfway to the store when I realize what a huge mistake it was to take the freeway. I figured since it was after six o'clock on Sunday there wouldn't be any traffic. Boy, was I wrong. Right now, I am sitting bumper to bumper and the guy in front of me is too busy playing on his phone to notice when the traffic moves. I honk my horn to direct his attention back to what's important, but when he's not deterred, I decide to take my chances in another lane.

I glare at the guy as I pass him, hoping this will make him realize his mistake. I step on the gas and am immediately thrown into the steering wheel when I slam into the car that swerves in front of me. 

I take a moment to orient myself and turn on my flashers to warn the other cars. I step out to check on the other people and notice the car is a new, black, Town Car that has the windows tinted so dark you can't see who's inside. Great, I've hit the President!

The driver's door swings open and a large man unfolds himself from the interior to stand before me. My words freeze in my throat. He's well over six feet tall and built like a football player. He's wearing a black suit that makes him seem like a shadow moving through the night. His charcoal eyes are the only soft feature about him as they look down at me in concern.

"Are you ok, ma'am?" His deep voice asks. I nod, still unable to speak.

He smiles kindly and glances at the front of my car. "Well, it looks like you hit me pretty good. Does your car still run?"

I'm getting over the initial shock of seeing this behemoth of a man and realize he's asked me a question. I look between the cars and while mine's considerably flattened in the front, his back fender doesn't look damaged at all. 

"Um, yeah, I think so. I'm sorry, are you ok?" My mother's raising finally kicks in

"Yes, we're both fine."

I'm about to ask who the other person is, when the window to the back of the car rolls down and an angry voice floats out. "John, we're going to be late. Just make sure nothing's going to fall off and let's get moving."

 "Excuse me a moment," John says and turns around to deal with the irate man, who's leaning out a bit so I can see his profile. His strong jaw and lush lips curl into a snarl as he berates John. 

I walk over, because I'm not going to allow this man to blame John for something that's my fault. I get to the window and stare for a moment at the most striking man I've ever seen. His shaggy blonde hair is brushed back and the dark blue eyes that are the color of the deepest ocean are currently narrowed at me in anger. 

"Excuse me,” I interrupt, thanking the good Lord above that my voice isn't shaking. "Please don't be mad at John. This whole thing is my fault."

"I know it's your fault. I am already running behind and now I'm going to miss the first few minutes of the game, probably the whole quarter," he grates.

I blink for a couple of seconds, unable to comprehend his anger. Then, I look down and notice he's wearing a Lions' jersey. 

"I'm sorry. Are you saying you're mad because you're going to miss the first few minutes of a football game?" He frowns in response. 

"You aren't worried that you were in an accident and that John, myself, or you could be hurt? The end of the game is all that matters anyway and it's not like they're going to miss you. Can't you listen to it on the radio or get the score on your phone?"

He stares at me, not responding to anything I've said or even acknowledging that he heard

I lean down a little and look him over. "Are you sure you didn't hit your head?"