Page 43 of Stay Toxic

I watched as he waited patiently with his hand on the frame, waiting for me to decide to let him in.

I gestured for him to hop inside and he slid into the Jeep with a smooth efficiency that shouldn’t be as sexy as it was, and asked, “Where do you like to eat?”

Not wanting to seem too eager to have him in my car, I said, “I’m not picky.”

“Then”—he jerked his head toward the end of the road—“start driving.”

I backed out of the driveway and headed for the end of the road.

My gaze stalled on the part of the entryway where there were still skid marks on the road where Viveka’s body had been run over by who I assumed was her husband, but the man in the seat beside me cleared his throat.

I swallowed hard and took a left—the only way you could go due to the lake topography—and started toward town.

“Hang a left here,” he said. “There’s a place down on the lake that’s quiet and serves excellent food.”

I “hung a left” and drove carefully, paying attention to the road a bit more than normal because of the man beside me.

I didn’t want him to know how bad I drove. Some of it was me, and a lot of it was how badly my Wrangler rode.

But I’d probably die of embarrassment if he knew how badly I drove with those two things added together.

I hated driving people.

I especially hated when new people rode with me, and I had to impress them with my driving skills.

Or lack thereof.

“Turn left there.” He pointed again.

As he directed me, we got closer and closer to the lake, and I realized the place was directly on the water.

I’d never heard of it before, either.

Based on the name—Ride’s—I couldn’t discern what kind of food they served, but based on the fullness of the parking lot, I knew it would be good.

I unbuckled my seat belt and got out, then shoved the small box of shit that I’d had in my lap the entire time into the back of my Jeep.

By the time that I was done, Shasha was at my side, holding his hand out for me.

My heartbeat accelerated at his closeness as I took his hand and said, “Thank you.”

He nodded, not replying, and placed the palm of his hand on the small of my back, guiding me up to the restaurant. He opened the door for me with his free hand and then waited until I was inside before raising up two fingers, again not saying a word.

The hostess snatched up a few menus and smiled widely at Shasha—definitely not acknowledging me at all—and said, “Right this way, sir.”

I rolled my eyes and let out a small snort.

Shasha’s eyes—god, they were so beautiful—studied me.

I fixed my features, causing him to smirk slightly.

“This way,” the impatient hostess urged.

I fell into step and felt the heat of Shasha at my back the entire way.

He may not be touching me any longer, but I still felt the fullness of his presence.

“Is here good?” the hostess chirped.

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