“And stop calling me sweetheart.”
“Not arguing about that either,” I reply.
She glances around, like she’s weighing her odds of how difficult it’ll be to walk back to Natalie’s. I doubt she knows where we are, so for her it’s like we’re out in some country field in the middle of nowhere.
The wind whips up and blows strands of her ponytail across her face. The sun is at an angle to where it’s shining directly in her eyes, making the green in them pop, and the red in her auburn hair catch fire.
She sighs and massages the bridge of her nose, then gestures at herself with a swipe of her hands.
“Jordan, I’m too heavy.”
Anger flashes bright and swift at hearing her say that about herself. I remember how Amelia used to talk about Douglass. The snide remarks at school from the cheerleaders. The locker room talk from some of my teammates. It was all bullshit then, and it’s bullshit now.
“Douglass, get in the car and place your ass on my lap. Unless you want another repeat of yesterday.”
She must see how serious I am. She does what I say but doesn’t hold back calling me a domineering jackass.
I help her get settled and instruct her on where to place her hands and feet. It’s a tight fit since the seat only goes back so much and I’m a tall guy. Then, I immediately realize my mistake when she squirms to get comfortable. My dick tents behind my zipper, liking the friction way too much. I bite my lip to hold back the moan.
She twists her neck to look back at me. “This is ridiculous. Why do I have to sit in your lap? I’m not five.”
I grab her left hand, her bracelets jangling, and she tries to pull out of my grasp.
“Jordan, please let go.”
“I promise I’m not doing anything nefarious.” I mold her hands underneath mine and guide them to turn the keys. “Just watch and learn.”
When my feet press the pedals, and I move our hands to the stick, she finally catches on.
“Oh, wow,” she exclaims when the car starts moving.
In order to see, I rest my chin on her shoulder, and my left hand molds to her upper thigh, my thumb stroking the crease at her hip. She doesn’t notice, and I’m too much of a bastard to point it out. I’ll take any chance I can get to touch her.
Douglass giggles and makes these little gasping sounds as we drive. I maneuver her movements like a puppeteer, helping her shift gears and allowing the car to gradually speed up, then slow down, letting her feel the difference.
Seeming to forget her irritation with me, she asks, “Can we go faster?”
“Go for it,” I tell her, giving her the lead, but keeping myself alert and ready to jump in.
She does everything correctly and shifts the Jeep into fourth, then fifth. Our feet and hands move together in synchronicity, and the feel of her pressed so closely, her body fitting perfectly to mine, is both heaven and hell. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted a woman as much as I want her, and I don’t understand it. This need. This punch-lust desire. But I’m not going to question it.
Douglass lets out a whoop of joy as we bounce down the dirt road. Her happiness is infectious, as evidenced by the wide smile I’m wearing.
“Okay, I take back the domineering jackass. Thank you for this. I’ve always wanted to learn how to drive stick.”
“You’re welcome.”
Because I’m curious and she’s being more open, I ask, “What other things have you wanted to try but haven’t done yet?”
We come to the end of the dirt road, and I help her downshift and make a right turn onto the private road that leads to the front of the house.
“You’ll think they’re stupid,” she comments as she gets up to speed and holds a steady thirty-five miles an hour. “Can I roll the window down?”
I let go of where I was holding her thigh and roll down the driver’s side. The wind rips through the interior, causing her ponytail to slap against the back of my head since my chin is still sitting comfortably in the crook of her shoulder.
“Try me,” I reply and wait for her to answer.
“Sing in front of an audience. Dance in the rain. Run a 5K… holy shit!”
