“Why is that you think?” His voice is now gruff. We’re heading onto a dangerous topic.
“I can’t say,” I try to keep my voice high and chirpy. “I don’t know you that well.”
“Oh,” he sounds glum.
“However, I picked up a few things over the years. I know you’re pretty good at sport and very active … you’re a risk taker, even when you race … and a serious adrenaline junkie. You’re part of the famous San Francisco Boys; your favorite color is black; your perfume is Homme Sport by Dior; you hate Brussels sprouts but love takeout from DQ; you’re way into martial arts and shit; your shoe size is 11; you’re the outdoorsy type and likes camping; you’re a dog person; you have an almost perfect GPA; you only date brunettes; you don’t do relationships; you’re terrible at bowling and even worse at croquet; you wear only CK underwear; and you sleep in the nude. But I don’t actually know you.”
“And here I thought I was a pretty decent bowler,” he sneers.
“Nope, you officially suck. Even more than Kiara.”
“Duly noted, angel.” It’s the first time in forever that we are actually talking to each other like normal people. And why does ‘angel’ sound so much better than ‘babe’?
I run my gaze over his very masculine features, then drop traitorously to linger over his very fine body wearing nothing but that low-riding pushed-down coverall, and my mouth dries up while other parts dampen.
“Are you seriously checking me out right now?” I jolt back.
“Yes. NO! Flip.” How did he see … his eyes never left the road.
He laughs, the sound washing over me makes something low in my belly quiver. I must be hungry.
“I’m starving. You?”
“Yes, but not for food.” And the quiver shudders. Holy hats, this man knows how to increase the heat.
He pushes his sunglasses to the top of his head, disheveling his hair. Now he turns his head to look at me and I feel a most annoying heat rising from right between my legs, moving up to my brain, melting everything in its path until I feel as if I might combust. His state of undress doesn’t help.
But I’ve been burned by him before, badly. I’m not going back there. Granted, I was a silly teen then with a bad crush. A lonely kid looking to love and be loved. Mom died. Dad went AWOL. Kiara doesn’t do love. Uncle John, bless his soul, is not the affectionate type. And my brothers are tough. Not that they don’t love me, because I know they do … they just have a difficult time showing it, as if they were shattered from within.
Actually, the whole zoo thing might have been a godsend. After I’ve wiped away the last tear, I picked up my trampled heart, and taught myself to handle my own problems. I threw my soul into my art and sports and slowly found myself.
Now I’m a nineteen-year-old woman who knows not to play with fire. I’m tough. I’m strong. And I’m filled up with confidence. No one is going to control me. If I do something, it’s because I want to, not because I’m forced to.
“You said we needed to talk.” He turns his head back to the front and I’m sure he just went rigid, as if someone stuck a stick up his ass. But maybe that’s just my imagination
“Now is not the time.” Or not. His voice is stiff and strained too.
“Why?” I look down at my hands. A fleck of hope rooted itself in my heart. Should I rip it out?
“I don’t want to talk while I drive.” Sensible answer. Okay, not uprooting it right away.
“Not a great multitasker?” I tease, trying to get rid of the sudden tension in the cab. He immediately relaxes and laughs.
“Oh, I’m a great multitasker. Like right now my body is handling at least 5 things at once,” he says, tension gone, like intended.
“Five? Impossible. Men are only capable of 2 at most … with one being breathing.” His chuckle hums through my chest cavity and crawls into my heart. That’s not good.
“Well, I can safely say that I’m driving, while I’m talking …”
“That’s two,” I count.
“I’m breathing, feeling pain, and …” Four. His eyes turn to lock on mine, “I’m hammer hard.” My mouth drops open, my eyes pop and now I’ve stopped breathing.
Then I slowly and very discretely try to look there … at it.
And ‘it’ wiggles. And puffs up, pressing hard against the black fabric covering it.
Like a match on dry timber, I ignite.
“Fuck.” It slips out – my filter is broken again. He swears softly and groans.
“You know staring at it is not making things easier for me.” My head jolts to his face and then to the front.
“Sorry.” I’m blushing, flustered and hot. “It’s just … I’ve never … eh … seen …” Shit. I close my mouth. He lets out a low grunt.
“Sorry, I tend to fill awkwardness with blabbering.” I take a deep breath. I’m not going to explain. I push out my chin.
“You know what,” I hiss, “You and your dick can go to hell.” This heat I’m feeling must be anger. I’m glowing with rage. And I’m sure my one eye is twitching.
“Oh, baby, hell’s my second home.” He’s not even shaken, and here I am getting as mad as a leprechaun.
“I hate you!” There’s a deafening silence for a moment … or two.
“You realize that love and hate are deeply connected.” He gives a large proud grin as if he just figured out the undisclosed meaning of the universe.
“So maybe you’re actually in love with me.” He’s watching me from under those long, thick, inky lashes. I have no idea what the look in those green eyes means, but he’s looking at me as if he can see all the way inside, past everything, to where my real thoughts and feelings are.
It’s discommoding. Horrifying. Enticing.
“Gmf! Sorry to burst your bubble, but devils don’t love.” I realize I, in fact, just said that he doesn’t do love … not that I don’t love him.
“So you don’t like me then?” He asks softly as if he’s disappointed. Oh, for chrissake. I should get over myself, but instead, my heart rate hops into a slow simmer, which makes no sense. None at all.
“Well, I’ve been there, done that, remember, even got the butchered heart to prove it,” I stab. “You’re not the knight in shining armor I thought you were.” I know he’ll get the meaning behind my words. The knot in my tummy subsides. It feels good to let it out. To make him see what he did.
“Oh, love,” he says trying to hide the tension in his voice, “I’m no knight on a white horse.” He can say that again. “I’m more of a demon in jeans on a black bike. And instead of saving you, I’ll pin you down and have my evil ways with you.” I gulp, lock my legs, and lick my lips – nipples hard.
He smirks as if he knows what my body is trying to say, but my brain is still figuring out.