He puts the car in park and kills the engine. The silence is deafening.
Finally, he speaks. "Don't ever do that again."
"Then don't drive like a maniac." I'm still looking out the window.
"I wasn't—" He stops and blows out a breath. "You could have been killed."
"We both could've been killed with your driving." I turn to face him now.
"Jesus Christ, Liana! Would you stop?" He's looking at me now, and his eyes are blazing. "You jumped out of a moving car! You hit the pavement hard then got up and started running. Who does shit like that? You fell into the middle of the damn road."
"I do because you wouldn't listen to me!"
"I was listening! You were overreacting!"
"I was scared!" The words burst out before I can stop them. Raw and honest.
He freezes and stares at me.
"I was scared," I repeat, quieter now. "And you dismissed me. You made me feel like I was being ridiculous when I was genuinely terrified."
Something shifts in his expression. The anger doesn't disappear, but it's joined by something else. Guilt, maybe. Or understanding.
"Why didn’t you say that?"
"I did! I asked you to slow down a dozen times!"
"You criticized my driving. You didn't say you were scared."
"I shouldn't have to explain that when someone is begging you to slow down, they're scared!" My voice is rising again. "What did you think was happening?"
"I thought you were being controlling! Trying to tell me how to drive!"
"I was trying not to die!"
"I wouldn’t let you die!"
"How was I supposed to know that?"
"You're impossible," he says, running a hand through his dark hair.
"And you're reckless," I shoot back.
"You drive me insane."
"That makes two of us then!"
We're staring at each other. His eyes are dark, intense. My pulse is racing, but it's not from fear anymore. It's from him. From the way he's looking at me. From how close we are in this small space. And then suddenly without warning, he leans across the seat and kisses me.
It's not gentle. It's not sweet. It's angry and frustrated and desperate and everything we've been dancing around.
His mouth is hot on mine, demanding. His hand slides to the back of my neck, fingers threading through my hair. I can't breathe. Can't think. Can only feel.
I kiss him back just as hard. All my anger, my fear, my confusion pouring into it. My hands find his shirt, fisting in the fabric, pulling him closer. He makes a sound low in his throat. His other hand finds my waist, gripping tight.
This is a mistake. This is a terrible mistake.
But I don't care.
