He shrugs.
“Why? What’s the point other than literally burning gas?”
He doesn’t respond right away. I watch the way his hand tightens on the steering wheel and he clenches his jaw. “It keeps my mind occupied.”
I think about that, how many times I wish my mind could be occupied and the ways I’ve tried to do that. Driving around has never been on that list because if I’m driving then I have a destination in mind.
Against my better judgment I ask, “Why do you need your mind occupied?”
He tightens his hand on the steering wheel again, his knuckles turn white. I’m worried my question overstepped whatever line in the sand we’ve drawn. Maybe it has, and he can take me home and forget about all of this.
Go back to how things were before. If that’s even possible.
“Sometimes I struggle to sleep, too,” I mumble softly.
“And why’s that?” he asks, though I feel the same way he seems to about my question.
“I asked you first.”
Silence surrounds us again, it seems to be a common theme when we’re alone, which is happening a lot more often lately. He doesn’t even move to turn up the music, and instead of answering my question he changes the subject.
“Would you want to drive?”
I rear back. “Your fancy shmancy car? So I can fuck something up on it and you blame me? No thanks.”
“You wouldn’t fuck something up on it.”
I give him a disbelieving look, and he actually glances over at me, the smallest smile appearing on his mouth.
He ends up pulling over on the shoulder. “Come over here.”
I look around, it’s pitch black but we’re very much out in the open. “Uh, no.”
“I didn’t ask, Angel. Come over here.”
I look at him, then the steering wheel and the small space between them. “Wes, no.”
“I’m not asking. Come over here, or I’llputyou over here.”
I bite my bottom lip and sigh. Unbuckling the seatbelt, I openthe door because even if he thinks the two of us are about to fit in that seat together there’s no chance my long ass legs are fitting over the middle console.
I stand outside the driver’s side door, and wait. He opens it, and pats his lap, “Here’s your seat.”
“You’re insane.”
“Probably. But you’re going to steer, and I’m going to work the pedals.”
“You’rereallyinsane.”
“Then join me in my insanity, Angel.”
With a long drawn out breath I give in, climbing onto his lap. It’s an extremely tight fit between his large body and the steering wheel. My head is grazing the top of the roof, and I don’t know how he expects this to work. I swivel my hips, making him grunt which makes me smirk.
I turn my head to the side, and ask with a smug smile, “There a problem?”
He grabs my hip and has me move against him once again. I let out a squeak, feeling his hardening length under me. Which doesn’t help the way I’ve already been feeling from the vibrations in this stupid car.
“There a problem?” he repeats my question back to me and I scowl even though he can’t see me. “How about we get a little more insane?”
