It quickly morphs into a scream, both of us jumping out of our fucking skin.
“What the fuck are you two doing?” Dawson says, eyes darting between us both.
Regina untangles herself from me. “Calm your pecks, sunshine. We’re having a moment,” she jokes, making Dawson roll his eyes, but he wipes away the smile with the palm of his hand.
Just as I go to step out of the cubicle, I hesitate. “Is my sister—”
“She’s gone; the guys kept an eye on her. She left in a car.”
I blow out a breath, glad he kept up well with Regina’s story.
“I didn’t know that was your sister, but now that I think about it, you both look really similar.”
I scoff at his observation. “Yeah, and that’s where it stops. She’s a pain in the ass, believe it or not.”
We head to the cashier, deciding to buy everything that’s in my hands, with Saint’s fake credit card, of course.
Dawson carries my bags as we head to the car, and deciding to keep my other fake life in tow, I pull out my phone, sending my mom an update on my other hidden life.
40
Indie
Cliché - sad version - mgk
IfIhadballs,they would be shrivelled so far inside me, I’d need surgery to pull them out.
It’s that cold.
Thankfully, Regina’s internal snow radar hadn’t gone off before I left, despite it almost being the middle of November. I’m glad for her extra senses, because I didn’t pack snow gear.
Saint decided it would be a great idea to take me out in his truck tonight; it’s seemingly crafted for offroad, but I haven’t found the courage to question whether his driving is.
If it was snowing?
I think we’d be in a ditch by the way he takes the speed through these woodland trails.
His hand squeezes my knee. “Why the fuck do you look like you’re not breathing?”
I swat it away. “Both hands on the wheel please!”
He isn’t a terrible driver, not even close, he just seems to be fearless. I’d be travelling these at a snail’s pace, scared we’d topple off the cliff sides.
He cocks his head to look at me. “Indie darling, I could do this road with my eyes closed”—his gaze rolls over to me, lazily taking me in—“but I prefer to keep them open.”
Fuck, the whiplash.
Now I’m a hot mess.
My heart’s not sure whether it’s thumping through the tension of the truck’s speed, or the underlying meaning that usually comes with Saint’s sinful words.
I huff a laugh. “Think you could maybe at least, I don’t know, slow down?”
I’m lurched forward, my plea being answered with the creak of Saint pulling the handbrake up as we come to a stop.
“I was doing the limit, seeing as there’s precious cargo with me.”
A blush spreads across my cheeks, my natural reaction to this unholy being I seem to have been blessed with.
