“That’s code for I suck.”
I step forward and run my hands over her arms. “You don’t. You need more practice.”
She looks up at me, her green eyes wide and vulnerable. Her lips press together, and my heart sinks, expecting tears. Instead, she drops her forehead to my chest, and her back starts to shake. I brace myself for sobs, but the sound coming from her isn’t sadness—it's laughter.
She pushes off me and doubles over, holding her waist. “I am so bad, Miles.” Tears stream down her cheeks as a grin takes over. “Like so, so bad.”
I work to stay levelheaded, trying to channel my dad’s calm, but it’s a losing battle. Her laughter is contagious. Let’s be honest, there were a few moments I thought I might die or at least be gravely injured.
“You really are.” I laugh. “Honestly, I think you’re the worst first-time driver there is.”
“Did you see that guy’s glare and the way he flipped me off? I thought he was going to jump out and punch me.”
“He definitely wanted to.”
She drags the back of her hand across her wet cheeks. “Why is this so hard for me to grasp? I’m smart. I can do anything, but put me behind the wheel and I’m like a toddler in a plastic Little Tikes car.”
“That might be inflating your skills,” I tease.
She smacks me on the chest. “Oh my gosh. Now you’re just being mean.” She smiles.
I shrug. “You wanted honesty.”
“Okay, so be honest. Am I ever going to get the hang of this? I think it might be a gift to my fellow humans that I’m a car-service type of girl.”
“You’ll get it. Driving comes more naturally to some people, I suppose, but I’ve never met someone who couldn’t learn.”
“Oh, I’m sure they’re out there. That shit is hard.”
“As you said, you’re smart. You’ll get it.”
Her head falls back, and she sighs, then comes back to face me and shrugs. “Okay, if you say so. But I think we should stick to empty parking lots for now.”
“I agree a hundred percent.” I nod with amusement. “Should we resume practice in this parking lot? It’s empty. You won’t run the risk of pushing someone’s road rage toward a possible double murder.”
“We should still keep watch. Mr. Volvo might come back to finish the job.”
I cross my arms and lean back against the truck. “Don’t worry. I can take him.”
She scrunches her nose, looking me up and down. “I don’t know.” She shakes her head. “I think he could take you.”
“Are you kidding?” I scoff. “The guy was wearing a suit. I guarantee he sits behind a desk all day. His biceps were as big as my wrist. It wouldn’t even be close.”
Her eyes widen. “He looked really strong. I was actually worried he was going to get out and hurt you. He was really buff.”
“Seriously, Miranda? Do you need your eyes checked? He was a skinny dweeb with anger issues. I’m in the gym seven days a week. I’m really buff.”
She tilts her head to the side and takes me in, an unimpressed pout on her face. “I don’t know. You might be strong, I guess. I’m sure you have muscles—like the smaller kind. They’re just not very noticeable.”
“The smaller kind?” I question, confused.
Her assessing stare breaks, and she presses her lips into a line, suppressing a laugh.
I run my palms down my face and blow out a breath. “You’re totally rage baiting me.”
She laughs. “And it’s so easy. Mr. Small Muscles.”
Pushing off the truck, I lunge toward her. She giggles and takes off running around the vehicle. I reach for her, and she evades my grasp, darting to the side and continuing to run. After a few seconds, I catch up and circle my arms around her waist. I spin her in a circle as she laughs.
