Page 5 of Whimsical Ink

“Daniel! I said I wasn’t coming. Turn around,” I demand.

“Oops sorry, can’t.”

“Then take the first exit.”

“I have a feeling I won’t get across the lanes in time to exit.”

“Daniel, you fucker. I said no.” My nostrils flare, and I ignore the cheery music on the radio trying to kill me.

“All I heard was a cry for help.” Without moving his eyes from the road, he finds my shoulder and squeezes before I shrug him off.

I don’t need his bare hand on my bare skin, sending tingles down my arm when I’m angry at him.

I slouch in the seat. Guess I’ll get comfortable since I’m stuck here with stupid music and stupid handsome Daniel with his stupid green eyes and stupid chestnut hair for the next few hours.

“A cry for help is a bit dramatic.”

“You didn’t want to celebrate your birthday.”

My mother would say my eyes rolled so far back in my head they got stuck. “I said there wasn’t anyone to celebrate with.”

“And what am I? Someone random off the street?”

“No. You’re Oliver’s best friend, who I only see when you’re with him, or when you want a tattoo.”

“I’m hurt you don’t think we’re friends.”

We aren’t. Even if I desperately want to be. But it’s a little hard to be friends with your older brother’s bestie when you’ve been in love with him since you were sixteen, and he was your sexual awakening.

And now I’m spending my birthday and Christmas with him. Fuck. What am I going to do? At least Emma will be there, so I can try to avoid him. Being in the car with him is hard enough for me, inhaling his citrusy cologne while trying to stay angry at him. But… Maybe it’ll be nice to get away for a few days.

“You kidnapped me. Friends don’t kidnap friends.”

“They do if they need sea air for their constitution.”

I snort. “I’m not that bad.”

“You gave your staff a holiday and worked in the studio by yourself. That’s bad.”

“Fine. But I work by the sea. If it hasn’t fixed me there, it won’t fix me at your fancy bach.”

“It’s not fancy. It’s been in the family since I was a kid.”

My eyes widen, and I straighten. I hadn’t clicked. The family is spending Christmas at the bach. The whole family. “Wait. You have to turn around.”

“Can’t really do that.”

“But I don’t have any presents!”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Sure, welcome me into your home for the holidays, but, oops, I forgot to buy your family presents.” Maybe I could cook or something?

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Stop saying that,” I hiss. I’ve met his family numerous times, but that doesn’t mean I feel comfortable invading their holiday.

“I took care of it.” He squeezes my shoulder again.

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