“He did not. And stop saying the Lord’s name to get your way.”
His lips stretch into a bigger smile before he blows smoke outside the window. The car begins to roll and nervousness fills my body. I should get out.
“Stop the car,” I bark. My voice surprises even me. “I can’t have a drug addict drive me home.”
He brakes quickly, puts the car in park, and reclines a little, relaxed and unbothered. In control. “Good. Because I’d prefer to finish this before I drive anywhere.”
I gawk.
He hits the unlock button, gesturing for me to leave. He takes another drag like I don’t exist.
I snatch the joint without thinking and toss it out the window. It lands in a drainage gutter.
Now he’s the one gawking.
“What the fuck?”
“I’ll scream if you don’t start driving me home. I’ve had a very stressful day.”
He glares defiantly, but jerks the shifter into drive. “This is the only time you’ll get away with that shit around me.”
I purse my lips so I can’t smile.
The car turns onto the highway, and I sit quietly. Occasionally, I steal glances at Jack. I memorize the way he drives. How the veins on his hands and forearms make him look so powerful. How he slouches in the seat, like the space is too small for his long frame. And how the streetlights flash over his body, illuminating his athletic form as he stares out the windshield.
“So hot,” I whisper. The words fall out before I can catch them.
My heart drops, cheeks flush, and body stiffens.
“What?” he says and side-eyes me.
My hand fumbles with the air conditioning dial.
“It’s hot,” I say loudly, trying to mask my Freudian slip. “I’m sweating.”
It’s not a lie.
He nods and returns his eyes to the road.
I exhale a sigh of relief.
“Is it this street?” he asks.
“Yep. Take a left.”
He does.
In the distance, my house glows with hundreds of landscaping lights. The gold-colored fence glimmers under the moonlight. The property looks more like a resort than a home.
As he approaches the security gate, I grab his forearm.
“Stop here.”
“Here? On the side of the road?”
“Yeah. I don’t want my father knowing you drove me home.”
“Sinner not welcome,” he mutters to himself, but doesn’t seem offended. More expectant. He pulls over. “Okay. Get out. I’ll wait till you’re inside.”
