I frowned, hand frozen in the air. “It’s quiet.”
“What’s wrong with the quiet?”
“It’s awkward.”
“Not to me.” He flicked on his signal before merging onto a ramp. Before switching lanes, David checked his side mirror and then looked over his shoulder to be sure no one was in his blind spot. I bit my tongue, trying not to cite how dangerous it was to glance over his shoulder. Being a backseat driver was something I’d been actively working on since I got so many complaints about riding with Haven.
I could barely make out David’s expression in the night's darkness. The streetlights cast a blue glow on us. The color made him look like someone from a Van Gogh painting. His wet hair, curlier than usual, stuck to his forehead. He was all swirls, blurred edges, and muted colors. I watched a raindrop slide down the bridge of his sharp nose. As soon as he caught me staring, I whipped my gaze out the window.
“Very awkward,” I insisted in a mumble.
“That’s because you’re making it.”
“I’m not making this awkward. You’re not playing music. Most people play something in the car when they have company.”
“That’s because most people are like you, afraid of being uncomfortable for even a second.” He opened his console and pulled out a dry washcloth.
My brow raised when he offered it to me.
“Your hair’s dripping all over my seat. I just got it steam-washed a few days ago,” David said, nudging the cloth closer to me.
I took it and grabbed a handful of twists to dry. “It’s kind of your fault.”
“My fault?” He shook his head. “Oh, I’m going to love hearing the logic behind this one. What is it? Do I control the weather now?”
“Probably did some kind of blood sacrifice.” I used the remaining dry part of the towel to wipe my neck.
“You got me. The cat’s out of the bag now.”
I snorted. “Anyway, you can make it up to me.”
“Which is all I ever want to do in life.”
“My executive board and I need a ride to the beach this weekend.”
He started shaking his head before I even finished the sentence.
“I wouldn’t ask if I could get someone else,” I add quickly. “But Haven’s car broke down last week. It’s still in the shop.”
“I’m not taking you and your org on a joyride.”
“It’s not a joyride; it’s for our new headshots,” I defended. “And it won’t be the whole org. Just the four of us. Our secretary has a car but can’t take everyone without making multiple trips.”
“What happened to your car?”
“What car?”
His forehead wrinkled. “You don’t have a car? Doesn’t your family own like half of our town?”
“Just a couple of local businesses.” I waved my hand. “And that doesn’t equate to having a car…especially when I don’t have a license.”
“Huh?”
I made a face and repeated louder, “I don’t have a license.”
“You don’t have your license?” he asked in shock. “After we’ve moved hundreds of miles away from home to a large commuter school, you don’t have your license?”
“It’s on the to-do list.”
