Page 26 of Overkill

Then he broke eye contact, put the car in gear, and let the tires crunch down the gravel to the main road.

Moment over. And somehow, I was pretty sure it was all my fault.

I stared forward, worrying my fingers on my lap, twisting them until the knuckles cracked. My leg started bouncing, and why the fuck was he not playing any music in here? He was just letting us ride in absolute silence! What kind of serial killer did that?

Twisting my right thumb with my left hand—because I needed to do something to take my mind off being in a car with an absolute heartthrob of a man, in silence, wondering about the absolute freak he thought I was—I bit my lower lip.

That wasn’t enough. So I bit the inside of my cheek until the skin was scraped raw, and I tasted blood. Still, I kept my mouth shut, trying to make sure I didn’t say anything else to make me seem stranger than I already did.

“I like you.”

His voice made me jump, and I almost squealed in surprise.

“What?”

“I like you.” His big hand reached over the center console, his hot palm scraping the back of my much smaller one as his fingers interlaced with mine, his index finger deftly prying my thumb from my hand. “That’s why it makes sense.”

I stared at the side of his face and blinked as we passed under another toll camera.

“What?” I said again, my brain as scrambled like morning eggs.

“You said I was too nice to you, and that it didn’t make sense. I’m saying that it makes perfect sense because I like you.” He spoke slowly, like he wanted me to understand every word, but it also made me feel like I was an idiot.

“I don’t understand.” Probably the most honest thing I’d said all day.

“What’s to understand? You’re easy on the eyes. You’re kind, and you love your family. You’re smart, and I’m drawn to you.” He shrugged, thumb slowly massaging the inside of my palm; the gesture sent heat up my forearm and, for some reason, my tense shoulders suddenly relaxed.

“But I’m…none of those things.” I had only ever been those things to one man, and even in that, I had been a stand in for someone else.

My mother was the looker. I got enough from her that I could come across as decent, given enough effort, rest, makeup, clothes…but beautiful? That was out of reach. Especially now.

“You are. But I like you for a lot of reasons, and I’m finding more every time we talk. That’s how it’s meant to be, right?” He shrugged. “Unless you’re trying to let me down easy because you’re not interested. That’s fine, too. Won’t change my feelings any, but it will make me back off if you’re—”

“No.”

His hand froze. His jaw tensed. “Okay. I get it—”

He started to pull away.

“No…I mean…” I rushed to speak, my fingers tightening around his, holding him to me and keeping the connection. “I mean I don’t want you to back off. I’m interested.”

“You don’t have to be, you know?” He whispered, but he didn’t pull his hand away. “I know I’m a lot.”

“You are.” I scoffed. “But not in the way you think.”

Every woman in town had a crush on him. I was no exception. He was gorgeous and looked damn good with a tool belt. Everyone had noticed how he always helped his neighbors like it was his calling. The step on The Bar’s porch got a bit wonky? There he was with a saw and his screwdriver, fixing it for Ellen for free. Mrs. Ratcliffe’s mailbox was knocked off its pole by some annoying teens with a baseball bat hanging out the side of a truck—and he was there the next day with a new one, putting it up for her. I think he even mowed her lawn.

Most of all, he didn’t make me talk. He just held my hand, his thumb occasionally switching from lightly grazing the back of my palm to drawing circles on my wrist. It was so comforting, I must have fallen asleep, because at the next moment, I woke up in a parking lot. We were outside of a white concrete building, and a leather jacket that smelled of sandalwood and spice had been draped over me like a blanket.

“We’re here, darlin’,” he whispered, his finger grazing my temple to tuck a strand of hair as some guy on his radio talked about meditation and self-actualization.

“W-What are you listening to?” I said through a yawn.

“Uhhh.” He reached down and switched off the radio, and I noticed the weirdly MacGyvered contraption hooking a cassette player to an iPod. Woah. “A book on the evolution of Taoism.”

“Huh?”

He shrugged and put his keys into his pocket as he stepped out of the truck, jostling the entire cabin with his movements. Before I even had the chance to take his leather jacket off, he’d already run to my side and had opened my door. He unbuckled my seat belt, lifted me by the waist, and set me on the ground as if I were delicate and precious, the jacket still wrapped around me.