“Nobody drives like that!”
“I do.”
“Yeah, but you’re a nerd.”
He mumbles something under his breath, something about “pointy headlights.”
I put the car in Drive and then slowly, ever so carefully, move my right foot onto the gas pedal as my left foot hovers above the brake pedal. I then proceed to drive slower than I ever thought it was possible to drive. My grandparents would make fun of me for driving this slowly.
“Emergency brakes,” he snaps.
“What?!” I jam my foot back onto the brake pedal—because I can’t talk and drive at the same time. Nobody should do that. Ever.
He calmly points to the parking brake. “You haven’t released the parking brake. That’s why the car is moving so slowly.”
“Fine. I will now release the parking brake.” I release the parking brake. I put my hands back at nine and three. I lift my foot from the brake pedal. I press my foot against the gas pedal. And I drive…
I am driving the shit out of this rental car! I don’t drive all herky-jerky or super slow. I drive straight. When he tells me to signal and then make a right turn, I do it. When he barks at me to check the mirrors before turning—even when there’s no one around—I calmly check the mirrors. Because I’m a safe driver, and theremightbe someone around. When he tells me to make a left turn, I signal first, check the mirrors, and then I make that left turn like a pro. When he tells me to change lanes, I don’t tell him that there aren’t any lanes—I signal, check my mirrors, and then I pretend to change lanes.
I fucking love driving.
I am so good at this!
I can’t believe I’ve never done this before. He’s right—I was scared. It’s so dumb to be scared of something that pretty much every adult on this continent does on a regular basis.
“Change lanes and then make a left turn,” he orders.
And boy, if he thought my nipples were hardbeforehe started bossing me around… I signal, check my mirrors, look over my shoulder, and pretend to change lanes, and then I slow down and make a left turn. Driving is fun.
“Okay, slow down and come to a complete stop. Put it in Park. That’s enough.”
“But I’m having fun!”
“We need to get back and change for the fundraiser.”
I groan, but I do what he says. I slow the car down and stop and park. I even put on the emergency brake.
“Good job, kid,” he says. “I knew you could do it. We need to get back to your parents’ house now.”
As soon as he has released his seat belt and before he’s unlocked his door, I am climbing over the center divider and straddling him. Lowering myself onto his lap.
“What are you?—”
I kiss him as hard and deep as I can while squealing into his mouth. I feel like a teenager. My jeans are so tight, they’re cutting into my hips, but I don’t care.
Johnny tries to speak, but he can’t. He can’t because I’m grinding away on him and I’ve placed his hands over my pointy headlights. I am so turned on by this man. The element of surprise. The confidence. The trust. The way his hands squeeze my tits even when he’s protesting that we have to get going. The deep sound from his throat, the dark stubble that tickles my skin. His hard cock inside his very expensive jeans, the way his tongue sweeps around inside my mouth even before he realizes what I’m doing to him.
Even the thought of driving my kids around in an electric minivan during a zombie apocalypse.
“I want you,” I exhale. “I want you, I want you, I want you.”
I pull off his glasses and place them on the dashboard.
“I’m yours,” he says, like this is as obvious as basic algebra and he can’t believe he has to say it out loud.
“I want you to fuck me,” I say, reaching down between my legs to stroke the hard length in his jeans.
“It’s broad daylight.”
