Page 48 of Rules in Love
The silence was deafening. Finn was no longer holding my hand, and Jason ran a red light. There was no point. No one in that car was escaping the awkwardness. No one. Especially me. So, I did what any mature adult would do. I shoved my Air Pods in, pressed play, and pretended it never happened.
Twenty minutes later, we were still stuck in traffic, I was still beyond mortified, and Finn must have worn his teeth to stubs. Although I couldn’t hear the grating any longer over my 90s Brit pop, I could still see his jaw working overtime. He sat silently beside me, watching the traffic, tapping his thumbs, and occasionally looking my way with either a hopeful smile or a worried scowl. I’m sure he wanted to move on from my Mini Cooper sex revelations and talk, but he wasn’t quite ready. Neither was I.
So, he forced it.
“What are you listening to?”
“What? I can’t hear you.” I could. I just didn’t want to talk. That didn’t stop him. He grabbed my phone and studied the album cover on the home screen.
“Take That, eh? I would have thought you more a Westlife lassie.”
“You know Westlife? And Take That?”
“Does this sound like I know Take That? Gary, Jason, Howard, Robbie, Mark.”
Wow. He really did. Mark me impressed and a little disturbed.
I must have looked so stunned and puzzled that he explained the reason for his expertise. “My mum and Jocelyn were big fans. I think I have listened to every album they’ve made.”
“Okay, then, what’s your favorite song?”
“Hmm, I dunno. Wait, though, I bet I can guess yours. Hmm…” He looked me up and down, twice, sucking his lip into his mouth in a fashion that made me want to climb from my seat, mount, and ride him all the way to Tarrytown.
“All I do each night is pray.”
“Wow. You know the words, and yes, ‘Pray’ is my favorite. Huh. Who’s my favorite member, then?”
Again, I was scanned head to toe. “Hmm. Definitely Mark or Robbie, but I sense you greatly appreciated Howard’s body.”
“Spot on.”
Add horny to scared and impressed.
Finn
Victoria and Jason rode up front, silently suffering second-hand embarrassment while Scarlett and I butchered our favorite British boy band. Midway through our stellar rendition of “Back for Good”,I remembered I had confessed to Scar that I had watched and lovedMansfield Park. She was going to think me a complete wanker—or completely brilliant. But at that moment, I didn’t care. Her smile and affectionate twinkling as we sang along with Gary and the boys were worth every joke she could make at my expense.
When our driver demanded we stop before he ran us off the road and into a tree, we yielded and reluctantly turned off the tunes. Scarlett read the hotel brochure front to back, and I pretended to nap while watching how cute she looked.
The woman was a non-stop fidget, fluttering between singing to herself, staring out the window, twisting her curls around her fingers, and biting her nails. After a while, her attention shifted again, and she began digging around for something in her bag. “Gotcha,” she muttered, then pulled out a well-worn copy ofEmma. I continued to observe. Smiling to see her eyes widen in surprise or squint with a giggle, even though she had probably read that line one hundred times. She read to herself in a barely audible whisper, and I wondered if she always did that. I hoped so. I could watch and listen to her read for hours.
I was relieved we’d had that chat this morning and cleared the air. Not that things would ever be clear between us. Not with all that chemistry swirling around. Eventually, she caught my gaze and hit my thigh with the book.
“Are you watching me? Why are you watching me, and why are you smiling? Do I have food on my face?”
“Why Jane Austen?”
The novel was placed on her lap as she pursed and twisted her lips. “Well, why not? She’s brilliant, funny, romantic, and a feminist ahead of her time. And talk about bravery. She was never afraid to point out the hypocrisy in the world around her or the barriers and injustices women faced. And she did it all with such delicate wit that many readers don’t even realize they are being educated with every word they read.” She sighed, very near swooned, then suddenly blushed when she caught my gaze. “God, sorry. I do prattle on. I just…ugh, I love her.”
“I can see that, and you’ve completely convinced me. So, tell me, Red, what book would an expert like yourself recommend to a novice?”
“Really, you want to read something of hers?”
“Yep, really. How could I not after that? Why? Is it too unmanly?”
“No, not at all. It’s… I think it’s lovely.” With a clap and a cheer, she leaned down and again fished around in her bag. It took all my strength not to rip her up into my arms. I was so desperate to kiss her. The way she saidlovely—andbeautiful,too, come to think of it—all fancy and proper with that fucking accent…drove me insane.
I willed my cock to behave and stared out the window, hoping to spot an accident or maybe some gruesome roadkill. Anything that would clear my brain of impure thoughts of that proper tongue, and all the very un-fancy and improper things I wanted that tongue to do to me.
