“Terrifier.”
She gasps, her hand flying to cover her mouth. “Reed, that movie is terrifying, ha, get it?”
I snicker in response.
She grins, blurting out her answer. “Mine’sShe’s All That.”
“Never heard of it.”
Her jaw drops. “You’re kidding. It’s iconic. A high school makeover movie? Freddie Prinze Jr.? Paul Walker?”
“Doesn’t sound like somethin’ I’d watch.”
“Well, I’m going ot make you watch it with me then.”
I choke on a laugh, shaking my head. “Okay, sunshine, whatever you want.”
“Whatever I want, huh?” she says, shifting closer, her tone teasing but her eyes saying something else entirely.
My hands tighten on the wheel. “You’re trouble.”
She leans forward, whispering conspiratorially, “The fun kind.”
And without a thought, she absentmindedly reaches over the center console, her hand landing on my arm.
It’s just a light touch, barely anything at all. Her fingers curl loosely around my bicep, and I feel every sensation of her touch, goosebumps erupting on my skin instantly.
My breath catches, as my eyes flicker down for a split second.
Her thumb brushes along the fabric of my flannel as she continues talking, something about art, paint colors, and canvases, completely unaware of what she’s doing to me, not even realizing she’s stroking my arm.
“I paint when I can,” she says softly. “Not for anyone else. Just for me. It’s quiet when I do.”
I glance at her, my throat tight. “You good at it?”
She shrugs, still tracing little circles on my arm. “It makes me feel like I am.”
Her touch lingers another beat before she finally pulls away, and the air that rushes in where her hand was feels too cold, too empty.
I clear my throat, trying to sound steady. “You miss it?”
“Every day,” she whispers, her eyes turning back to the rolling pastures. “I get so busy with content creation and editing that I never have time to sit down, relax, and paint.”
I grunt in response, not knowing what to tell her in this moment.
Her lips curve. “Maybe we can paint while I’m out here.”
My eyes are focused on the road, but I can’t help but smile. “I can make that happen.”
She smiles in response, letting out a long sigh.
The cab settles back into silence, but it feels different now.
Her fingers brush the edge of her hoodie again, fidgeting as my knuckles tighten on the steering wheel.
I catch one more glance, her half-smile, her eyes heavy from traveling, and everything in me fights the urge not to reach for her.
The highway curves ahead as the world around us fades into the kind of night that only happens when two people are pretending not to fall for each other.
