“Unless you have a bright idea to get them to engage, we’re going to fly through every street here until the damn cows come home, or they chase. Whichever comes first.”
I get she’s pissed but help, or don’t throw fuel on the…
“Sweetheart?”
“What Kaleb.” Her response is more of a statement than curiosity.
Oh well.
“Would you climb in the back for me? There’s a latch behind the headrest, above the trunk that will lower the back seat. I need you to get something for me.”
“I don’t know if you noticed but we’re driving…” She leans over and looks at the speedometer. “Sixty-five through the city. One pot hole, or one pedestrian, and I’ll end up pavement-paint.”
“Fine, trade me and I’ll do it.” My tone mimics the annoyance of hers. She bristles next to me, mouth parting in shock for whatever reason. Those eyes of hers squint with disbelief but I patiently wait for her mouth to work again—speeding up to seventy-five out of spite.
“Are you serious!”
“Nadia, this isn’t a game.” The words squeeze through my gritted teeth. “Of course I’m serious; I need you to work with meso we can get out of here in one fucking piece. I don’t want to do this anymore than you do so please, please sweetheart, either trade me or climb in the back.”
Thank god I have all thirty-two teeth because this woman is going to make me pull every one of them by the time I get her to do a damn thing.
After fifty long years, she finally unlatches her harness and practically throws it to the side, one of the metal pieces clacking hard against the window to her right. If she breaks that fucking thing I’m going to spank her until she welts. Shifting onto her knees, she squeezes between our seats, climbing into the back. Her delectable ass and pillowy thighs brush against my right arm before she falls effortlessly onto the bench.
“Thank you. It’s on the left side. Plastic. Just wanna…”
“I’m not an idiot.”
Wuuusahhhhh, Kaleb.
Her smart fucking mouth makes me want to loop robe around those creamy thighs, spread her apart, and punish her by denying her orgasms. She’s going to have to scream and beg for me to stop—the moment we’re situated on campus and she’s mine for eternity, all bets are off.
Hearing her free the latch behind the seat, she brings it down and starts to climb inside—the road noise is louder now that the thick barrier has been displaced. She shifts around inside, ass waving around and I’m nearly ready to say fuck this drive and eat her alive when I hear her cough and protest.
“What is that smell?”
“Turpentine. Grab it, and some of the rags sitting in that basket.”
There’s a thud before the tell-tale roll of something heavy into the truck well that clings before Nadia drowns it out with her cussing—more to herself than me. Whatever she knocked over, which I have an idea, consumes more of her time when shechases it down and puts it back. Following her muted tirade, my eyes rake over her in the rear-view mirror, one more time when she wiggles out from the loud trunk.
Plopping down, she briefly looks out the window and the side view mirror. The sidewalks are decorated with never-ending advertisements for skyrise apartments and breakthrough medical treatment. Beyond them are benches, trees, bus stops, and city trash cans that have seen better days.
Is…is she scouting the area?
The thought makes me grin, even with the annoyance hanging between us. Finally she looks at me and holds up the tin container of turpentine, in her other hand a dinghy-red mechanics rag.
“The hell am I supposed to do with this?”
Approaching a red light, I downshift and come to a stop, idling between a champagne-colored Cadillac Escalade and a bright red Dodge Neon—the hum of the Civic reverberates against them, amplifying the purr. My fingers ache so bad I fear they may snap from how hard I have been handling the steering wheel. Prying them away from the leather, and taking the rags from her, I shake them. It takes me just a few seconds to isolate a corer, and motion for the metal jug.
“Pop the lid, sweetheart. Then shove this inside of it and give it a little shake. You want the liquid to soak into the rag or it won’t work right.”
Green flares across the hood when the traffic light switches, distracting me from her and her newfound task. Taking a left, I pull a U-turn at the light and head back down the same route, to the officer who flashed his lights at me.
“Okay, now what?”
Leaning to the left, I pull my zippo from my pocket and flick it open. The metal lid makes that famous sound when I pass it to her.
“We’re going to light it up.”
