“What kind of car?” he asks.
Red Audi. The color flashes in my mind. My red Audi that I was driving at the end of senior year of high school when I was taken.The car that was supposed to be freedom but became a cage. The memory grips me so tight my stomach sours.
“It was red,” I say quietly. And then I force a smile, shifting the subject before the weight can drown me. “Anyway. Doesn’t matter now.”
He glances at me. Long. Silent. Like he sees something I don’t want him to.
Then he looks back at the road. “We’ll be stuck here three more hours if we wait this out.”
My brows lift. “Really?”
He nods. “I know another route.”
“Okay.”
His hand tightens on the wheel. “Do you trust me?”
The question hits harder than I expect. My chest stutters.
I force a laugh. “You wouldn’t kidnap me or anything, right.” I pray he doesn’t hear the thin strand of seriousness tangled in the joke.
He doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t smile. His jaw just clenches, muscle ticking.
Then, with a smooth, precise turn, he maneuvers the car out of the line, leaving the bridge behind.
And I sit there, in awe, wondering what the hell I’ve gotten myself into.
The wipers thump back and forth, struggling against the rain, but Miles drives like he knows exactly where he’s going. His hands rest steady on the wheel, and I can’t stop sneaking glances at them, those huge knuckles bruised, his fingers curling like they’re meant to crush something. I sit there, aware of every breath I take, every shift in my damp clothes, the tank top clinging to me even though the heater is finally warming the car.
We merge onto the highway, the road a stretch of slick black lit by glowing white headlights. The traffic thins, the storm less vicious here. He leans back in his seat a little, jaw flexing as his eyes look forward.
“We’ll take a quick stop,” he says finally, his voice low, almost swallowed by the sound of the tires on wet asphalt. “The drive that way will take twenty minutes.”
“Okay,” I nod quickly, trying not to sound too eager just to hear him talk.
The silence stretches again, thick enough that I hear my pulse in my ears. My fingers twitch, restless. “Do you… have the radio?”
He jerks his chin toward the dashboard. “Radio’s there. Turn it on.”
I lean forward, fumbling with the buttons. The knobs are stiff, and I’m so aware of him watching me out of the corner of his eye that my fingers slip.
“Here,” he mutters, reaching over.
His hand brushes mine. Just a graze.
But the zing that shoots up my arm is instant, electric, sparking down my spine and straight into my stomach. My lungs catch. I’m fucking gone. My whole body lights up like someone struck a match under my skin.
Oh God. I have to be ovulating or something. That’s the only explanation for how my body reacts, overreacts, to this boy.
The radio crackles, fuzzy at first, before a familiar voice breaks through, all polished pop vocals and a steady beat.
“…I’m still a believer, but I don’t know why…”
I smile before I can stop myself, sinking back into the seat, letting the melody soften the jagged edges of my nerves.
We drive in silence, the music filling the air. After a few minutes, he scoffs quietly, shaking his head.
I turn, frowning. “What?”
