Page 34 of Fight Or Flight

“You’re fine,” I assure her.

The damn scent of her shampoo, or whatever that is, wafts past my nose and it takes everything in me not to whimper like a lost puppy. I wonder if I’d creep her out if I leaned over and took a whiff.

Just a little one.

Her fingers loosen around the wheel and her shoulders seem less tense too. I contemplate opening the window and sticking my head out of it, but her scent is really the least of my troubles. For a little thing, she consumes the entire car and on top of struggling not to sniff her, I can’t seem to take my goddamn eyes off her.

“If you’re going to stare at me, you can at least talk to me. I’m nervous enough driving this thing as it is.”

Busted.

Clearing my throat, I sanction whatever common sense I possess and force myself to stop acting like a total idiot.

“Why are you nervous?”

Tightening her hold on the steering wheel, she releases an exasperated sigh.

“Oh, I don’t know. I’m driving my mom’s car for one and while it’s not the first time, this seems much different and not just because I’m in a different state, driving on roads I’m not familiar with.”

“Well, you’ve got a license, so someone thinks you’re capable of the task and your mom wouldn’t have had my dad fix the car for you if she didn’t believe in you too. Just relax.”

She thinks about that for a second before slicing her eyes to me.

“I can’t relax when you’re staring at me.”

“Then maybe you should quit being so pretty.”

As soon as I hear the words come out of my mouth, I wish I can take them back. Instead, I mutter a curse. Her cheeks flame as they usually do and fuck, I think I like it. Correction, I definitely like it. I like knowing that I have an effect on her. It’s only fair since she’s flipped my universe on its axis in a matter of days.

“You think I’m pretty?”

“Is that even a real question?”

I mean, mirrors don’t lie and even if they did, I think I made it obvious that I thought she was beautiful the night in the garage. Hell, it’s the very reason I’ve been avoiding her. After that stint on the bike, I didn’t trust myself. Not only did I keep staring at her legs, wondering what they would feel like wrapped around me, but I also noticed no one had a talk with her about wearing a bra. My brain shorted while my dick did its own rendition of a Mexican hat dance. Apparently, little Eric didn’t give a shit that Brooklyn was Bones’ daughter or that we were friends. He didn’t care that she was off-limits and on the verge of becoming legally part of the Montgomery clan.

Christ.

What a twisted web.

Brooklyn diverts her attention back to the street.

“I haven’t seen much of you since the other night,” she murmurs softly.

Instead of changing the subject like anyone with a lick of sense would do, I engage.

“What does that have to do with me thinking you’re pretty?”

“Nothing…I…just thought…”

“What?” I press, confirming I have no fucking sense at all. I’m starting to think there is just air up there. Fuck brains.

The light turns green, and she blows out an exasperated breath.

“Can we talk about something else?” she pleads.

Well, in case we weren’t sure, Brooklyn definitely has the brains out of the two of us. But I’m no quitter, and when I’ve got a point to make, I drive that shit home.

“Sure, but just so you know, you’re an eleven. So how bout them Yankees?”

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