Page 176 of The Night Shift
I stay quiet.
Holly glances back, frowning. “Why aren’t you saying anything?”
“Are you done?”
“I’ll never be done fantasizing about your death.”
“Right.” I push my seat back, making room. “Get on my lap.”
“Excuse me?”
“On my lap, love. Now.”
She stares at me like I just tossed a severed rat into her lap. “Why?”
“I’m going to teach you how to drive.”
Her mouth parts slightly. “I already know how.”
“According to a driving instructor who probably died from the Spanish Influenza.”
“I’m not getting on your lap.”
“It’s the only way I’m letting you drive my car.”
“Then I don’t want to drive it anymore.”
“As you wish.” I restart the engine and pull onto the freeway, my hand gripping the wheel as I let out a dramatic, pained groan. Then another. And another.
From the corner of my eye, I see her glaring at me.
I groan again. This time with extra rasp.
“You’re being such a dick right now,” she says.
I keep driving. Keep moaning. Each sound more pitiful and theatrical than the last.
Holly snaps. “For fuck’s sake. Fine, you win! Stop the damn car.”
Grinning, I flick the indicator and slow the car to a stop on the side.
Irritation flickers across Holly’s face. She grumbles like a pissed-off puppy and unclips her seatbelt. “You’re despicable.”
“You adore me.”
She climbs onto my lap, her elbow jamming right into my ribs, directly over the half-healed stab wound. The dull ache barely registers as her ass drags over my thighs.
“If I feel so much as a hint of a boner, I’m cutting your dick off,” Holly warns.
“Or you could bite it off. I won’t complain. Cross my heart and hope to —”
“Stop yapping and tell me what to do.”
My injured hand ends up pinned between her spine and my chest. It hurts only a little. With my good hand, I reach for the seatbelt, dragging it across both of us, clicking it into place before wrapping my arm around her waist, fingers splayed low over her stomach. “Hold the wheel. Position your left hand at nine o’clock, right hand at three.”
She does as I say. Her hands are smaller than mine, fingers curled tight around the leather.
“Feet up.” I tap her knee with mine. “That’s the brake. That’s the accelerator. I’ll handle those. You focus on steering.”
