My legs are stuck to the leather seat, my hands are laced together between my thighs, and I suddenly realize what a stupid idea it was to keep the sleep shorts on. I’m in my fucking pyjamas. Sitting in his car. What the hell.
“Did I look like I was enjoying it?” I lift my eyebrows.
I’m painfully aware he saw how clumsy I am.
“Well, you dropped only a couple of glasses.” His lips curve in a soft, teasing smirk.
“Will you remember every embarrassing thing that happens to me?” I ask, annoyed, but not really.
He slowly nods, the smile spreading on his face. “I probably will.”
I sigh in surrender, my shoulders relaxing.
“I’m saving up for a car and catering pays well,” I reply, feeling a bit weird talking about this with him since he’s a Varner.
I look out the window, acting way too interested in the pitch black street.
“Do you have a driving license already?” he asks.
“Not yet. I don’t have time for the classes because of catering,” I explain, finally looking back at him.
He’s calm, like a statue, yet somehow I’m sure he has no idea what he’s doing either.
“So,” he pauses, looking like he just got the best idea. “Do you want me to teach you?”
“What?”
His face is serious. He nods toward the steering wheel as I shake my head and continue, “I’ve never driven a car before.”
My father was supposed to teach me, but I don’t think that’s gonna happen since that bastard took off.
“So let’s do it now.” His eyes light up—the soft colorful buttons from the car are glistening in the green forest up there.
“Are you crazy?” I mumble.
His eyes flicker around for a moment, as if he’s trying to decide how much he’s going to give away.
“Well,” he pauses, “I have a few diagnoses, to be honest, butcrazyisn’t one of them.”
I blink.
What?
I stare at him, confused, then my lips curl into an amused expression because I’m not sure if he’s serious or not but either way—it’s funny.
But he doesn’t wait for my answer as he shuts off the motor and gets out of the car. He walks around it and opens my passenger door, offering me his hand.
I hesitantly take it.
His hand is rough, the scars jagged and raised in some places, smoothed down in others, like they’ve been fought over by fire and time.
I try to ignore the way his touch pulls a sharp shiver from me as he leads me around the car to the driver’s seat. He guides me lightly, like he’s making sure I can let go anytime. When I sit down, he leans over me to show me what all the stuff in front of me means. I try to listen, but his body is hovering there, too close. I have to close my eyes for a millisecond.
“Clutch, brake, gas, turn signal. That’s all you need to know.”
He seems too calm, but I’m sure I overheard a bit of a stutter in his voice.
He leans back and closes my door, walks around and hops in the passenger seat.
