Page 32 of Collided

“You don’t have to do this,” Hope says, holding a novel to her chest as she stands up and follows me to my car.

“I know.”For some strange reason, I want to.

“Then why—”

I hold the door open for her. She gives me a puzzled look but gets inside. With a deep breath, I get in the driver’s seat.

We stop at a streetlight, and I turn on the AC. There’s no way she isn’t hot under that fucking turtleneck.

“What do you want to eat?” I ask, drumming my fingers on the steering wheel because I’m fucking restless. I’ve never had someone in my car before. It’s my personal space that’s now invaded by her.

“Um…” she fidgets with her fingers and refuses to look at me.

Yeah. I don’t fucking like it when that happens.

I want her toalwayslook at me.

“I'm hungry, so hurry up,” I grumble, annoyed with myself. This girl is throwing me off my orbit.

Her cheeks turn red. “I don’t have money, so I’ll just eat at home.”

I stiffen, not knowing how to say the right thing.

“It’s just food,” I reply nonchalantly.

She meets my gaze. “Food thatyou’dpay for.”

“I wouldn’t let you pay anyway. It’s not the right thing.”

“So, you’re a gentleman?” Her tone is playful which is better than her shy replies.

Am I a gentleman?I don’t know. I’ve never been with a girl before. All I’ve done is kissing and that doesn’t really require mannerism. Also, no girl has ever sat in my car before. It’s always been me. Precisely why there isn’t any garbage lying around on the floor and stuff splattered on the seats.

I bought this car, a black McLaren 600LT, with my trust fund money—to piss off Dad—two years ago.

When Marie, Sebastian, and I hang out, we either take his jeep or her car. I don’t want them exchanging body fluids on my damn seats. As long as they are alive I want to keep my car Sebastian-Marie-sex-free.

Titling my head, I stare at her. “Only for you.”

Her cheeks further redden, but she smiles.Fuck it’s a good smile. The kind that says we have an inside joke.

Moving forward, I turn on the music. Chase Atlantic blasts in high volume. I quickly turn it down.

I glance at Hope.

Our eyes connect and something clicks. It’s like the world stops moving.

A car horn blares from behind us and breaks the spell.

I find the light green. Taking a hard right, I speed through the street and pull up into the drive-thru of a local diner I usually eat at.

The woman asks for our order. Hope chooses a small burger. I roll my eyes and order a big one for her with fries and a few nuggets, and then rattle off my order: a chicken wings bucket, diet coke, and extra-large fries.

I pay using my credit card. Then drive down to the next station where the line is fucking long, so we wait.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Hope whispers.

I face her. “Do what?” I know exactly what she’s talking about.

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