Page 36 of The Last Good Man

“What stop?”

“I’m buying coffee and a bagel…” he mocks, entertained, slipping a cigarette between his lips and flicking his lighter open, igniting a flame. “A stop. It won’t take long,” he talks around his cigarette, a bluish ribbon of smoke sashaying its way into the air.

“Do you mind?”

“Making a stop? Yeah, I do. You smoking? I can live with that,” I mutter, swiveling my eyes to the view.

A few seconds pass.

He rolls his window down while mine is half up.

“Leave it open,” I demand.

“Claustrophobic? Or are you planning to make a run for your life?”

I snap my eyes to him.

He lifts the hand holding his cigarette.

“Oh… Easy, “hesays. “You are so damn bossy, baby.”

“I am not bossy.”

He taps his cigarette outside the window, and specks of ash get sucked into the air inside the car.

A few land on my lips.

I rub them off.

“Yes, you are,” he says softly, focusing on the road. “And you hate it,” he adds, sliding his cigarette between his lips again.

I can’t move my eyes away from him.

Watching him run his inked fingers through his hair, I open my mouth again.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Which one, boss?”

A crooked smile splits around his cigarette.

I try to ignore it, although a tiny voice in my head promptly reminds me those lips were pressed against mine, making me feel things I wasn’t supposed to.

“How is my life your fucking business?”

He looks at me for too damn long, and luckily, we slow down and pull to a stop, waiting for the lights to turn green.

“You don’t even know how to say bad words,” he says, shaking his head.

I don’t comment.

“I need to teach you things,” he says in a tease.

I find his comment hilarious and inadvertently flash a smile.

“You need to teach me things? Haha… Who do you think you are?”

He sets the car in motion, and we head to the Bronx soon after.

---