I pick up the toast and take a small bite.
Chapter 16
I cringe when the transmission grinds and whines as Douglass shifts into second gear. My poor Jeep lurches forward and stalls, and I have to shoot a hand out to stop my face from crashing into the dashboard, even with the seat belt on. The torture my poor Wrangler is going through is my fault. I should’ve asked Douglass if she knew how to drive a stick.
When I was able to finally get her out of the house and corral her to the car, we sat in Natalie’s driveway for a while with Douglass in the driver’s seat before she admitted she didn’t know how to drive a manual gearbox. When I offered to teach her, the elated expression on her face took my breath away. I’ve never seen anyone so happy to learn how to drive stick in my life.
I took us out to the back field on the Hammond property where Grandpa Jack taught me how to drive when I was fourteen. Even though there’s only one dirt road, there’s plenty of wide open space and no trees to careen into.
“Sorry,” Douglass says for the dozenth time in the last five minutes.
“Ease the clutch,” I remind her.
She blows a raspberry. “I’m trying.” The Jeep jolts forward when she hits the gas a little too enthusiastically. “Sorry!”
I take pity on her because I see she’s getting frustrated.
“I have an idea. Push down the brake with your right foot and the clutch with your left. Then put the stick in first gear.”
I watch in amusement as the tip of her tongue pokes out, and she bites it as she executes what I told her to do with no problem.
“Good. Now pull the emergency brake and turn the ignition off.”
As soon as she does, I hop out of the passenger side and walk around the hood, then open her door.
She grimaces up at me with the cutest, most contrite puppy-eyes. “I’m so sorry. I know I suck. I’ll pay for any damage I’ve done to your engine. I appreciate you letting me try. It was fun. Maybe not so much for you, but for me. So… yeah,” she rambles, white knuckling the steering wheel.
I like this flustered side of her. She’s been more approachable since I offered to teach her how to drive manual. It’s nice having her not send me eat shit and die vibes for once. This Douglass is the girl I remember. Sweet. Shy. Endearing.
“We’re not done. I have an idea,” I say, and lean over her to undo her seat belt.
Of course, I do it on purpose, just like I did yesterday at the gas station, and I get the same reaction from her. She sucks in a breath and holds it. Being so close to her, I can hear the rapid pound of her heartbeat. It further reinforces the effect I have on her. Trust me, the feeling is mutual. She smells fucking fantastic, and I have a huge compulsion to bury my face in her neck and taste her soft skin.
Reaching for her hand, I tug her out of the seat. She glances down at our joined hands and all the air she’d been holding, whooshes out.
“What idea?” she finally asks.
“Do you trust me?”
She tenses.
I know it’s a stupid thing to ask as soon as I say it. Douglass trusts me about as far as she can lift and toss me. Whatever I did that night broke any trust she had, so it’s up to me to fix it.
I back her up against the open door and grip her ponytail, tilting her face up. Every time I look at her, it’s like a punch to the gut. She is that fucking gorgeous.
Whatever I had wanted to say, disappears into the ether. Then again, words between us are meaningless. I can spout off every iteration of “I’m sorry” to her until I’m blue in the face, and she still wouldn’t believe me. It’s going to take time, patience, and actions, not words, to tear down the almost impenetrable walls she’s constructed.
Gripping her waist, I gently turn her and move her aside so I can sit in the driver’s seat. My hand pulls the handle to adjust the seat position and my legs push it as far back as it will go.
Patting my lap, I say, “Come here.”
One of the ways Grandpa Jack first taught me how to drive a stick was to sit me in his lap and have me place my feet and hands on top of his, so he could show me what to do. He said it was a way to teach muscle memory. It was also safer because he would still be in control of the brakes, gas, and shifting if things went wrong.
Douglass backs away a few steps, her countenance a display of utter disbelief. “I amnotgoing to sit in your lap.”
“Not arguing about this, sweetheart.”
Her arms cross over her chest and inadvertently push her tits up and deepen her cleavage, and yeah, I look. She sees where my gaze falls and drops her arms back to her sides, a blush blooming on her cheeks.
