“You think he would’ve taken it that far?” she asks softly.
I chance a glance at her and note her pallor. Fuck, I’m scaring her. Rewinding my words in my mind, I realize where I went wrong and backtrack.
“Probably not,” I lie through my teeth. “But I’m grateful I happened to be there anyway. I’ll always protect a woman in need.”
“You’re a good guy, Bash. Your girlfriend’s a lucky girl.” She’s back to fiddling with her fingers as she says it.
At first, I think she’s making a joke about how lucky she is for being my girl, because the mere suggestion of any other woman in my life is so preposterous. Then, when I realize she’s trying to gauge if I’m single, my chest warms.
“I don’t have a girlfriend, but I know my girl is out there.” I’m careful with my words, not wanting to give away that my girl is her, but also not wanting her to think I’m holding out for someone else.
She looks at me from the corner of her eye. “Anyone specific in mind?”
I just shrug, neither confirming nor denying, when what I really want to do is pull over and persuade her to be with me. To cater to her logical nature. Show her all the ways we’re compatible, and how well I’ll treat her. She wouldn’t turn medown. It’d be senseless to do so. But I can’t risk it, so I continue in silence.
Movement on the other side of the car catches my attention, and when I turn to see her feet on my dashboard, I instinctively reach over and grip her ankles. Gently, I pull them off the dashboard with my right hand while still steering with my left. I make sure her legs are in front of her on the ground before I turn back to the road.
“I’m sorry, but in the case of an accident, the risk of injury is astronomically higher when the passenger’s legs rest on the dashboard. The airbag becomes a lever, and the force will travel up your spine while your body is folded at the hips. The danger isn’t worth it.” Content with my reasoning, I nod to myself. But then I quickly add so as to not cause her worry, “Not that I’d let you get hurt. We won’t get into an accident. I’ve never been in a car accident. This is simply precautionary.”
“Oh. I get it. Thanks,” she mumbles. I refrain from looking at her, seeing the discomfort written on her face would be too much for me to bear.
Silence descends in the car, and I internally berate myself. I just scared her and touched her without permission. There’s no way she’ll want me now. I can’t believe I’ve done this.
“Oh no,” she huffs. “This isn’t good.”
My heart beats out of my chest. She’s done with me. She wants to get out of this car. Being around me isn’t good. She doesn’t even know most of it, and yet, she can already sense that she’s better off without me.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“Huh? No, my car. I left it by the bar. How am I supposed to get it?” Her dejected tone over a problem with such a simplesolution only highlights how alone she is. But not anymore. I’m here for her.
“I’ll drive you to it in the morning.” There isn’t any other option, not for her, and certainly not for me.
“No, it’s fine. I promise I wasn’t trying to guilt you. You’ve already done so much for me. I’ll figure it out.”
The insinuation that she could guilt me after all I’ve hidden from her is ludicrous. I owe her for eternity. Driving her to her car would be a privilege, not payment on my debt.
“It’s no problem. I’m heading that way in the morning anyway.” Well, I am now. It may not have been my original plan, and I’ll just turn around to follow her home to ensure her safety, but I have to convince her somehow.
“Oh. Well, in that case, thank you. I owe you one.” I can hear the smile in her voice. The way her cadence changes with her happiness is song to my soul. Her joy feeds me.
Entirely too soon, we pull into the neighborhood. Desperate for a few extra moments with her, I slow to ten under the speed limit. She can think I’m a cautious driver in neighborhoods, that’s fine with me. I need a few more seconds to bask in her presence.
“This is me,” she tells me as I pull up to her house as if I don’t know where she lives. As if I haven’t been in this house countless times. As if I don’t have every inch of it memorized.
I open my mouth to thank her. For what, I’m not sure. Being this near to her. Having her trust me enough to help her. Knowing who I am. They’re all reasons to be grateful. But thankfully, she beats me to it.
“Bash, I don’t even know what to say. Thank you so much.” She hops out of the car then hesitates before closing the door. “Are you still good to take me in the morning?”
“Yes, of course. Does ten work for you?” I try not to sound too excited about being with her again in the morning butmight have failed. I don’t want to rush her in the morning, but that’s not the only reason for the later hour. I need time to mentally prepare.
She breaks out in a blinding smile. “That’s perfect. I promise I’ll be ready. Goodnight, Bash.”
She says it again, and I can hardly breathe. My name on her lips has me desperate for her. It has me fantasizing about a future where I hear her call me by name freely. Frequently.
“Goodnight, Lizzy,” I reply in a husky voice.
I wait in her driveway as she walks to her front door, only leaving once she’s safely inside. The entire way back around the street to my house, I repeat the way she said my name. When I park, I take a moment to inhale her scent mingled with mine, then leave the car. In the shower, I take myself in hand and chase my release with the memory of her scent in my nose and my name on her lips.
