and he walks away to get into the passenger seat, leaving me standing behind his car staring blankly at the keys in my hand.
That isn’t what I meant at all.
Who lets someone they don’t know drive their car?
“The longer you stand there holding the keys, the later we’re going to be. Grab those panties and let’s go, speed racer!” he yells to me from inside the car.
I will never live this down.
Walking around to the driver’s side, I open the door and slide in, wincing at the pain that burns across my knees. I swallow hard, reaching for the door to shut it.
So much for not wanting to drive…
“I am not going to ask how you know what kind of car this is or what it can do…” he says.
I can feel the heat of his stare on the side of my face as I start the car up.
“You aren’t?” I say with as much nonchalance as I can gather. Turning my head to meet his gaze, I can tell he sees right through me.
“Nope, I’m going to wait for you to tell me. So, when you’re ready you can explain it all.” He gestures his hand to the road.
“It all?” I swallow hard, trying to not, as my mother would say, wear my emotions on my face.
“Yes, it all. Darlin’, you have expensive clothes but a shitty…” he hesitates when my brows knit together. “I mean… but that… uh classic car. All those expensive clothes were still on hangers and tied together instead of packed in an equally expensive suitcase and now it seems you, a girl who drives… classic cars—” He winks at me. “—knows an awful lot about mine. Something isn’t adding up, but that is for you to tell and for me to wait until you’re ready,” he finishes.
Biting my bottom lip, I turn back to face the road.
“I don’t pretend to know women very well, I can admit that,” he says. I shift back to see where this is going. “I have a sister who thinks she’s in love with one of our mutual friends… guys a real asshole. I don’t know what she sees in him,” he shrugs.
My brow rises. “Okay…?” I wait for him to make his point.
“I know girls are mysterious creatures and always changing, but your fashion sense is all over the place. I’m not gay by the way and it’s stereotypical to think that I am because I know who designers are.” His eyes narrow on me, and I nod. “That being said, even a straight man can tell you seem lost as to how you want to present yourself to the world.” The expression on his face says, ‘tell me all your secrets, pretty lady.’
Fat chance.
I white knuckle the steering wheel, contemplating what to say.
Stupid man, why does he have to care so much?
“I—I don’t know where I am going,” I mumble. The words manage to come out calm even though my insides are filled with nerves.
“Okay then. Just pull out and I will tell you where to go.” He points forward and with that the conversation is dropped.
I wonder how long he is really going to play this nice guy act.
After a few minutes of being on the road it begins to drizzle, and I hit the wipers so I can see.
“Hmm,” he hums from his seat.
I shift my attention to him to ask ‘what’ when I notice he is nose deep in a book.
Maybe this will be a nice quiet ride…
“Favorite color?” he asks.
After about a million, not really… more like twenty or so questions, which have made for a not-so-quiet ride, we pull into the student parking lot. I put the car into park and turn off the engine, the rain pounding against the outside of the car.
“It’s pink… and thanks, that was fun,” I say, tossing the keys at him.
Grabbing onto the handle on the door, I move to get out and make a run for it when his hand grasps my elbow.
“You’re just going to run out into the rain? Don’t you want to wait until it lets up?” he asks, looking away from me and craning his neck to peer outside.
Uh, yes… yes I am about to run in the rain. The idea of another round of ‘What’s your favorite…’ doesn’t sound exciting.
Besides
That isn’t what I meant at all.
Who lets someone they don’t know drive their car?
“The longer you stand there holding the keys, the later we’re going to be. Grab those panties and let’s go, speed racer!” he yells to me from inside the car.
I will never live this down.
Walking around to the driver’s side, I open the door and slide in, wincing at the pain that burns across my knees. I swallow hard, reaching for the door to shut it.
So much for not wanting to drive…
“I am not going to ask how you know what kind of car this is or what it can do…” he says.
I can feel the heat of his stare on the side of my face as I start the car up.
“You aren’t?” I say with as much nonchalance as I can gather. Turning my head to meet his gaze, I can tell he sees right through me.
“Nope, I’m going to wait for you to tell me. So, when you’re ready you can explain it all.” He gestures his hand to the road.
“It all?” I swallow hard, trying to not, as my mother would say, wear my emotions on my face.
“Yes, it all. Darlin’, you have expensive clothes but a shitty…” he hesitates when my brows knit together. “I mean… but that… uh classic car. All those expensive clothes were still on hangers and tied together instead of packed in an equally expensive suitcase and now it seems you, a girl who drives… classic cars—” He winks at me. “—knows an awful lot about mine. Something isn’t adding up, but that is for you to tell and for me to wait until you’re ready,” he finishes.
Biting my bottom lip, I turn back to face the road.
“I don’t pretend to know women very well, I can admit that,” he says. I shift back to see where this is going. “I have a sister who thinks she’s in love with one of our mutual friends… guys a real asshole. I don’t know what she sees in him,” he shrugs.
My brow rises. “Okay…?” I wait for him to make his point.
“I know girls are mysterious creatures and always changing, but your fashion sense is all over the place. I’m not gay by the way and it’s stereotypical to think that I am because I know who designers are.” His eyes narrow on me, and I nod. “That being said, even a straight man can tell you seem lost as to how you want to present yourself to the world.” The expression on his face says, ‘tell me all your secrets, pretty lady.’
Fat chance.
I white knuckle the steering wheel, contemplating what to say.
Stupid man, why does he have to care so much?
“I—I don’t know where I am going,” I mumble. The words manage to come out calm even though my insides are filled with nerves.
“Okay then. Just pull out and I will tell you where to go.” He points forward and with that the conversation is dropped.
I wonder how long he is really going to play this nice guy act.
After a few minutes of being on the road it begins to drizzle, and I hit the wipers so I can see.
“Hmm,” he hums from his seat.
I shift my attention to him to ask ‘what’ when I notice he is nose deep in a book.
Maybe this will be a nice quiet ride…
“Favorite color?” he asks.
After about a million, not really… more like twenty or so questions, which have made for a not-so-quiet ride, we pull into the student parking lot. I put the car into park and turn off the engine, the rain pounding against the outside of the car.
“It’s pink… and thanks, that was fun,” I say, tossing the keys at him.
Grabbing onto the handle on the door, I move to get out and make a run for it when his hand grasps my elbow.
“You’re just going to run out into the rain? Don’t you want to wait until it lets up?” he asks, looking away from me and craning his neck to peer outside.
Uh, yes… yes I am about to run in the rain. The idea of another round of ‘What’s your favorite…’ doesn’t sound exciting.
Besides
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