He looks amazing. Faded black tee under a leather jacket, jeans that fit just right, and those hands…strong, inked, a little dangerous. Dark hair, just long enough on top to run his fingers through, falls messily across his forehead. His eyes, deep and expressive, are almost black in the streetlight. They lock onto mine as he stands in front of me, staring, like he’s never seen a female before in his life.
For a second, he just stands there staring, drinking me in. Not saying a word.
His voice is rough when it finally comes out. “You look… wow.”
Like he can’t find any other words.
My cheeks heat instantly. I smile up at him, unable to hide how much that means.
“Thanks. You clean up nice yourself.”
He smirks, still staring. For once, the attention doesn’t make my skin crawl.
He steps toward me slowly, never breaking eye contact. When he’s close enough to touch me, his hand brushes my elbow in a gentle but confident way.
“Ready?” he asks.
I nod, hoping I don’t sound as nervous as I feel. “Yeah. Totally ready.”
Ben opens the passenger door, shielding me from the wind with his whole body. When I get inside, the seat’s still warm.
I watch as he walks around…shoulders broad, jaw set, like he’s ready to fight off anyone who crosses his path.
When he climbs in, he glances over, and I catch him checking me out again. This time, he doesn’t bother to hide it. I bat my lashes, all shy like, and tuck my hair behind my ear.
He turns the key and the engine rumbles to life, then glances at the dash and over at me.
“Is it too cold? I can turn the heat up.” He puts it on full blast before I even answer, and the vents start putting out warm air.
“Music, okay?” he asks, flipping through a playlist. “Or do you want something else?”
I shake my head. “It’s good. I like it.”
He finally settles on something mellow, the kind of music that fills in the silence and makes everything feel easy.
The streetlights glare across the windshield, turning him gold, then shadowed, then gold again. I can’t stop watching him. He glances up, feeling my eyes on him, and gives this tiny smile that makes my stomach drop straight down.
“So. You’re a student?” he asks, looking at me like he actually cares about the answer.
I nod, relaxing back into the seat. “Art history and psychology. Both equally useless, according to everyone in my house.”
He snorts, shooting me a knowing look. “Well, everyone in your house can get fucked. That’s cool as hell.”
I bite back a laugh. “You’re probably the first person to ever say that. Most people just nod and pretend to understand what I’m talking about.”
Ben’s hand rests on the gearshift, fingers flexing. His knuckles are scattered with faded lines of old ink. “Yeah, well. I have a soft spot for anyone who actually gives a shit about what they do. Don’t let them make you small.”
The words shoot straight through me, like medicine and a punch at the same time.
We fall into easy conversation of him asking about my favorite classes, me deflecting with a dumb story about a professor who looked like a retired pirate. He laughs, the sound low and real, and I swear the whole truck heats up two degrees.
Ben keeps glancing over, making sure I’m comfortable. He adjusts the vents again when he catches me rubbing my hands together. The truck hits a pothole and his arm shoots out, steadying me with a hand on my knee. He leaves it there a second longer than necessary before pulling back.
The whole time, I’m hyper aware of how close he is. How he keeps his speed low, checking the mirror like he’s guarding me from the world. The way he opens doors, touches the small of my back, never too pushy.
My heart is a mess, raw and exposed. Craving every drop of attention.
All I can think about is how I wish my first time had been with someone like him. Someone who makes me feel wanted, chosen. Not just a thing to be used, but something to hold. To protect.
