My lag in response wasn’t because I wanted to annoy him — not this time, anyway. No, I didn’t move instantly becauseof how the sun caught in his hair, making the brown appear almost golden. I smiled a little at how his eyes glared when the rays hit him, like he was suspicious that the heat was out to get him. His chest rose and fell in a sigh. He ducked back into his car for a quick second and came back out with a pair of sunglasses balanced on his nose. Strangely, the glasses made him seem less intimidating and like someone who would kindly give directions or patiently point out an untied shoe.
“Hey, you ready, Prez?” Indie asked from the cafe’s entryway. She gave me a knowing smile that practically sang‘your man, your man’.
I tore my gaze away from David, cheeks ablaze. “Of course! Let’s get this show on the road.”
5
Davidnot only let the girls play their music but also accepted their request with an easy, charming, “Of course.”
I nearly choked on my tongue when he opened the door for them, offered to carry their things to his trunk, and patiently helped Indie link her phone to his car’s Bluetooth. She struggled during the process, so David turned off his engine to ensure she was connecting to the correct system.
“Someone’s had their coffee this morning,” I mumbled once we were finally on the road.
Haven did, in fact, have boy bands on her playlist. But Indie didn’t object. And without David’s usual griping, we listened to bubblegum pop anthems while we sped down the highway. Indie and Haven sang along. In the rearview mirror, I caught Covee smiling at them and mouthing along whenever the chorus came around.
David pulled his gaze away from the road for a second to look at me. “I don’t drink coffee, remember?”
He rested his elbow on the console, coming a bit too close to pressing his bare arm against my blazer sleeve. The car smelled of him, warm and fresh with a hint of mint. His facewas clean-shaven. The aftershave he wore was new, with a calming scent that encouraged closer inspection. My stomach clenched when I realized I had noticed a minor change in his routine. I tugged my hands in my lap, forcing myself to think of anything other than wanting to press my nose against his cheek.
“Well, something has put you in a good mood,” I said in a dry voice.
He smiled. “You pissed at me already, Daredevil? It’s only 9 a.m.”
“I’m not pissed.” I glanced at the rearview to see if our conversation was being too disruptive. The heartthrob’s loud singing and Indie’s failed attempts to teach the girls harmonizing kept them from noticing my conversation with David.
“Something’s got your lips puckered.” David chuckled when I instantly relaxed my mouth. “You told me to bring my best attitude, so here I am. Now, you have a problem with my good mood?”
“I don’t have a problem.”
“Then why are you holding a fist? You look ready to throw a punch.”
I let out a breath and unfolded my fingers. David’s gaze lingered on my hand. He went quiet, distracted as he watched me flex my fingers. The car in the lane to our left merged in front of us. David nearly grazed their bumper since he’d been looking at me. One of the girls yelped once he slammed on the brakes, jerking us all forward. His arm reached out to act as a bar, keeping me from getting thrown against the dashboard. His fingers burned on my skin. David’s touch was an oven radiating obscene heat. He clutched my arm as if I’d slipped off the edge of a cliff, like he’d be more than willing to fall off with me before letting me go.
“That was close. Are you good?” Indie asked him, herhands braced on our headrests, knees shoved into the back of the console.
David nodded, mouth barely opening as he said, “Fine. You guys?”
“We’ll live.” Haven fanned herself, trying to calm down.
“This time,” Indie muttered, and they all tightened their seatbelts in unison, as if it were a practiced action.
David chuckled. There was a hitch in the sound, a hint of uncharacteristic anxiety.
The girls eventually calmed down enough to sing again when another song came on. I cleared my throat after a beat when David’s protective hold lingered on me. He snatched his hand away when he realized. A hint of red crept up his neck. The fingers that’d been holding onto me flexed a bit before returning to the steering wheel.
“Are you…are you okay?” he asked in a low voice only I could hear. He sounded almost shy, and his gaze remained glued to the road.
“All good,” I promised in a voice even lower than his had been. I glanced down at my arm, expecting I’d find evidence of his hand on me: an outline or imprint. There was nothing, of course. No sign he’d ever crossed an unspoken threshold and touched me.
For people who’d known one another since middle school, I could count on one hand how many times we’d touched. Each one was an accident. Brushed fingers while walking side by side. Mashed shoulders in crowded rooms. Never intentional. Never lingered.
“Always ready to throw the first punch,” David said, trying to restart our normal conversation after his not-so-normal protective grip.
His husky tone attached to a part of me that needed comfort. I closed my eyes for a second, recalling Haven’s meditation chants to center myself. This upcoming semester wasgoing to be stressful for me. It made perfect sense that my mind would go to reach for some kind of relief. But David wasn’t that relief.
“I’d never punch someone,” I said. “I’m not going to start with you.”
“Not physically,” he agreed. “But verbally, you swing like an MMA fighter on steroids.”
