Page 15 of The Delivery

“What’ll it be?” he asks him, not even questioning Mozey’s age.

“Screwdriver and one more of whatever she’s having,” Mozey says as he retrieves his wallet.

“Oh, no. No, thank you! I’m done. I was just leaving,” I say, standing up abruptly.

Without a word, Mozey reaches out and puts a firm hand on my shoulder. He pushes me back toward the barstool, and I slump down slightly in awe of how assertive he’s being.

“You’re drunk, Lana. You shouldn’t drive. I’ll get you home.” He says it loud enough for the bartender to hear who then raises his brow at me.

“But ah… gah!” I garble, so bowled over I can’t even articulate the obvious.

I jump up and march away from him, swinging my arms like a peevedoff child. I burst through the front doors of Z’s and continue through the parking lot. That’s when I remember I gave my keys to Janey and told her not to give them back—that we’d call a cab and come back for our cars in the morning. I spin in the other direction, crunching the gravel under my feet and march off toward the highway with the need to get away. I’m fleeing my role as an authority figure. I can’t be that right now; I’m way too taken with him. I’m drunk on tequila, attraction and lusty infatuation.

“Lana!” Mozey shouts as he jogs after me.

I swing my arms harder and try to wish away the buzz from the drinks.

When he catches up to me, he grabs my shoulder again and forces me to stop, right as a semi-truck barrels by and blasts it angry horn in warning. The close range of the pass nearly knocks me off my feet, and it’s Mozey’s steady arms that pull me back, crashing into his chest. It’s Mozey’s arms that wrap around me and strongly sustain me. He doesn’t waiver. He doesn’t let go of me. He doesn’t break eye contact.

“This is crazy, Lana! You gonna walk home on the highway, just to get away from me? Give me your keys, and I’ll drive you. I’m completely sober. I didn’t even have a sip.”

I want to cry and stomp my feet. Even more than that, I want to grab him and kiss him and never stop kissing him.

“No fraternizing!” I shout right into his face, then more quietly peep. “Janey has my keys.”

I follow Mozey back to Z’s and insist on waiting outside. If Gunnar sees me leave with him, I could easily lose my job. He passes right through the bouncers without even having to reach for an ID. I slink around my car in the parking lot, feeling like a sex offender who will surely get her social work license revoked for even having those thoughts—of kissing him or holding him—even just smelling him. I’d be happy to smell him.

Mozey jogs back with my keys. Janey must have handed them over— no questions asked. It’s reassuring how little faith she has in me.

“I don’t want you to know where I live.” I pout as I pull the seatbelt across my chest.

“I’ll forget as soon as I drop you off. I promise. I’d just feel better knowing you got home safe.”

“Chivalry isn’t dead,” I say flatly. “But don’t expect any favors. I treat all candidates the same, regardless of any outside factors.”

“Jeesh!” Mozey smiles and shakes his head.

“What?” I shout, overreacting to every little thing.

“You’re even bossier when you’re drunk. I didn’t think it was possible.”

We drive down the highway, and my heart speeds faster than the cars. There’s so much tension in the air between us, I’m afraid it will suffocate me. I try to focus on the vehicle’s brake lights in front of us, but my mind is in panic mode. It’s still running away down the highway.

“Pull over!” I yell, reaching across him trying to grab the steering wheel.

Mozey jerks the car into the emergency lane and slams on the breaks. I hurl forward in my seat and feel momentarily afraid. The seatbelt yanks tightly across my chest. I’m in a car with a criminal, and we’re probably breaking multiple traffic laws, I won’t even mention the moral ones.

“Goddamn it, Lana! You are so impossible!”

When he says it, I instinctually know that this moment right here, is the moment before he kisses me. I should stop it, I know I should. But I can’t. It’s happening and it’s stronger than me.

Mozey faces me and in one swift movement; he leans over and grabs my chin with his hand. He pulls me to him forcefully, one arm grabbing around my back. He lays his mouth on mine, and I melt into his scent. I feel how strong he is as my hands grip his arm and dig into his biceps. Yet he parts my lips with his tongue giving me the softest, sweetest, tender kiss. His hand wanders up my neck, diving into my hair. I whimper and tip my head back into his hand as his tongue gently explores my mouth. I’m not really kissing him back; I’m frozen in fear. He pulls back and looks at me with his smoky-chocolate eyes and caresses my cheek as if I were tender and precious and not the calamity I feel like.

“I’ll forget this part too. As soon as I drop you off. I promise.” Then he kisses me again.

This is a kiss. This is the kiss I will never, ever forget. I may forget everything else, my own name included, but I know I will never forget how I feel in this moment. I won’t forget his kiss.

We drive to my apartment mostly in silence with me giving directions with about as much emoting as a GPS. I feel dirty—like a bad person and a complete fuck-up. But I’m also warm and swimmy and still buzzing from his lips. I want them all over me. I want to kiss him and be the one to initiate it. When we arrive, he pulls the keys out of the emission and puts them in my hand.

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