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“Um…” Jake started.
“It’s an automatic. Frankie’s a good driver,” Ian said. “And she hasn’t driven her car in weeks.” Then he looked back at me. “That said, if you’re tired or you hurt, I can totally do it. I just… Not the bike yet.”
I liked his bike.
I’d liked it a lot from the first time I got to ride it.
But now that he’d brought up my car…hell yes, I wanted to drive it. “Maybe I drive there, and if I’m too tired, you can drive us back?”
Ian’s cheeks curved with his smile. “Sounds like a plan to me.”
Jake still scowled, but I pressed a kiss to his jaw. “I’ll be careful,” I promised him.
“You better be,” he said tersely, but he wasn’t looking at me so much as at Ian.
Yeah, yeah. Jake was the one who said I should give him a chance if I wanted to. Same should apply to the car, right?
Once in the driver’s seat, I let out a breath that felt like I’d been holding for weeks. I really hadn’t driven my car all that much, not since it got covered in condoms. To work and back, sure. A couple of errands even, but after Homecoming? Not even that much.
It was a little awkward to buckle my seatbelt or start the car with my right arm in a cast. “Can you…?” I asked Ian after he settled into the passenger seat and belted in.
“Yes, I can,” he said easily enough, reaching past me to pull the seatbelt down and then locking it in. Then he slid the keys in and started it. “Want me to change gears, too?”
I made a face. It would be easier if he did it. I didn’t think just how much I needed my right arm. Fuck, I hated Mitch.
Agitation buzzed under my skin.
“Please,” I ground out between my teeth.
“Hey,” Ian said softly. “I’m not trying to be pushy.”
“You’re not,” I said, blowing out a breath. “It’s just…”
“You want to be able to do it yourself.”
“Yeah,” I admitted. He put the car in reverse, and I backed out. I wasn’t rusty, but it still took adjustment ’cause I kept reaching to use my right hand and I had to remember to keep it up. It was better to keep it above my heart.
Aware of Jake watching us until I headed for the street, I tried to get a grip. “I’m sorry that I’m being cranky.”
“I can take it,” Ian offered.
When I shot him a look, he shrugged.
“Angel, I can take just about anything where you’re concerned, except you shutting me out. Granted, I’m the one who put myself on the outside, but I’m at the gate. The minute you let me in, I’m never going to waste my chance again.”
It was sweet.
It helped.
“I don’t…”
“You don’t have to,” he hurried on. “I mean it. You don’t. When you’re ready, you’re ready. Until then, let me have it with both barrels. If you need to vent, especially if you need to vent, or if you just want to scream it out. I can take it.”
“I’m not mad at you.”
“Eh,” he said, making a so-so motion. “You’re at least a little still mad at me.”
Okay. Maybe I was.
