Page 44 of Handle with Care
“Yeah?”
The smile’s definitely faded now, and I swear I can hear him thinking or emoting or doing something quiet very loudly from the driver’s seat. “Another time.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry…”
“You’re not prying.” He cues up some music to play with voice commands in the end, and something atmospheric and classical comes on. Not what I was expecting, though I’m not sure what I would expect from him. He glances over and gives a reassuring smile, even though I’ve reverted to my own quiet screaming meltdown. “Don’t worry, Dylan.”
Shit. The way he says my name is something else. Sublime. Like I actually believe him, that I shouldn’t worry, that it might truly be okay. “I’m still sorry for asking.”
“I know.” Will tilts his head in acknowledgment. He adjusts his grip on the steering wheel, focused on expertly navigating London roads. But the small smile he gives reassures me that I didn’t make an irreparable mistake.
Chapter Eighteen
My mind races through a litany of questions—like about the McLaren— which I’m confident aren’t appropriate to ask. Like does he have a boyfriend—like I should care or it’s even relevant, since I don’t believe in boyfriends. Or when he last kissed a guy. Or anybody. Or had his heart broken. Or?—
“What’re you thinking over there? You look like I’ve driven over your dog.” Will’s matter-of-fact, glancing over for a moment.
“Oh, you know. Trying very hard to save me from myself. So I don’t say anything dumb. Or inappropriate. Or, you know, offensive.” I gesture broadly. “I mean, I could say anything. I’m a wild card, baby.”
“I can’t think of anything you could say that would be dumb or inappropriate. Maybe offensive.” He laughs. “But listen, you can ask me anything, alright? If I’m not comfortable answering, rest assured, I’ll let you know. Politely.”
“Well, that’s good one of us has a firm grasp on boundaries.” I do my best to grin, but I still look kind of embarrassed. I’m trying desperately hard to not be offensive at the very least and, better yet, aiming for irresistible charm. Whichtypically is something I’m reasonably good at. Except I’m clearly outcharmed by Will.
At least he laughs. “Go on, then. Try me.”
“You sure?”
“Of course.”
I cough slightly. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, and I guess I didn’t know at first, but… God, this already sounds silly?—”
“Dylan, please.” There’s a warning note in his voice this time. “Spit it out.”
“Fine. Okay. Er, I didn’t know amputees could drive regular vehicles. That’s probably really ignorant of me, huh?” Heat rises in my face. “I mean, I’m confident I’m not in mortal danger, because you took us to Cumbria and everything. And clearly, you drive every day.”
“A reasonable question.” A quick, fleeting smile crosses his full lips. And I’m distracted again, curse him. “The answer is: it depends on the amputee. And what kind of adaptations they use, prosthetics, all kinds of things.”
“I see.”
“Though I will say they don’t toss the keys at you the moment you leave the hospital to drive home.”
I raise my eyebrows at that. Wisely, I keep my mouth shut for a long moment to give my brain a chance to catch up. It’s good practice. It’s the first time he’s given any hint about why he’s missing a leg and up a prosthesis. It’s an opening, and yet I want to tread carefully, on my best behavior. “Do they call you an Uber instead?”
“Pretty much.” He looks entertained at least but doesn’t offer anything else up. Meanwhile, the symphony crescendos over the speaker in a thrill that leaves goose bumps on my arms. The sunny breaks of the morning in London have given over to soft gray cloud, a solid bank overhead. It’s not gloomy, and it feelsmuggy for July. Will’s tapping his fingers on the wheel in a rhythm along with the music, his shoulders relaxed.
“I’m thinking we’re headed back to Cumbria.” Once out of London’s sprawl, we’re driving north again.
“Not quite. Cambridge. Don’t worry, I’m not taking you to meet my parents. We’re off to explore since you’ve never been.”
I perk up, intrigued. “It’s one of the places my guidebooks recommend to check out. Also, you have parents? Who knew.”
He rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling, and it thrills me that he’s smiling because of me. Which is a dangerous thought not worth exploring because God help me if it means something, and I’ve avoided meaningful romantic relationships for a long time. And this is very much make-believe till midnight when our pact expires. But Will smiles, and I’m smiling, too, as I lean my head back against the headrest. I’m tapping my fingers with the music against the door handle. Even if it isn’t my usual club music, I can barely keep from moving to any music I hear.
I give him a sidelong glance, more openly admiring than what’s sensible. Safe only because he has his eyes on the road like the responsible driver he is and not on me. His loss, but a win for highway safety.
“You’re lucky I didn’t come out in my furry booties, hot pants, and crop top, by the way. No dress code… what’s a boy to do?”
Will blinks, flickering his gaze over to me for a moment. “I never said fancy dress.”
