Page 33 of For The Weekend
“Don’t be so fucking stubborn,” he growls, stomping over to me to manhandle my bike. The same one he gifted me. “Get in the goddamn car, woman.”
When I don’t move fast enough, he wraps an arm around my waist and hauls me up, carrying me two steps before I shove off him, my annoyance fighting my amusement at how this guy is so offended at my independence. “It’s just a little rain.”
He huffs and points me to his passenger seat then stuffs my bike into his trunk.
By the time I’m buckled in, he opens the driver’s side door and settles behind the wheel, his tree-trunk legs folding up. He combs his hands through his long hair then brushes his palms down his arms, wiping the droplets from his skin, and I’m once again entranced by the art covering him. He leans his right elbow on the console between us as he shuts off his four-ways and drives to the end of the block.
“Which way am I going?”
I shoot my gaze up to the windshield from where I’d been admiring the interlocking skulls with the snake coiled in and around them. “Uh, left at the stop sign. I’m on Chestnut.”
He nods and makes the turn before glancing my way. “Warm enough?”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
It takes three minutes to arrive at my apartment building, and I can’t help but nudge him. “Told you it wasn’t that far.”
He sends me a flat look, and I giggle. The corners of his mouth dip farther down, and I poke the bear. “So tough. So mean.”
“Most people are intimidated by me,” he says, his left hand still on the steering wheel, while the other hangs off the side of the console, his fingertips barely touching my knee.
I lean into him, wanting that big hand on my leg, the heat of his palm smoothing up the inside of my thigh. More fodder for my fantasy when I power on my vibrator.
“I’m not most people.”
His mouth quirks. “I know.”
And I should look into an exorcism or something because the words are out before I even think them. “You want to go to a wedding with me and pretend to be my boyfriend?”
Surprise streaks across his face, and I wave my hands between us. “Never mind. That was dumb.”
He clamps both of my hands in one of his. “You always say whatever you’re thinking? Or not thinking?”
“Yeah. I’m sorry. That’s… My family’s always, like, you’re so dumb, Eloise.”
His fingers grip mine harder. “What do they say?”
I’m babbling now. No way to stop it. “I try not to do it, but sometimes my mind goes one hundred miles an hour, and I can’t. I really can’t stop it. One thought leads to another, and things just come out, I guess.” I wiggle my hands out from between his to toy with my necklace. The pendant is a small cylinder with different divots, specifically made to be a nondescript sensory item. “My mom hates?—”
“Fuck your mom,” he spits, and I cough out a laugh.
“I dare you to say that to her face.”
He shrugs. “Okay. When’s this wedding?”
“I’m kidding. I don’t really need you to come to the wedding.”
“Eloise, when?”
I’m like his trained pet. “October 16th.”
He tips his head to the side, studying me for a second. “You asked me about that date before.”
“I did?” I have no recollection. My brain’s Swiss cheese. “When?”
“The day we met in your bakery.”
“Really?”
