AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“I swear I’m not drunk. Look.” To prove I’m telling the truth, I walk a straight line, heel to toe, while alternately touching my pointer fingers to the tip of my nose. Once I make it the distance to my car, I turn with a flourish.
“See. Functioning at full capacity. Now get in and tell me your address.”
He stands still, staring at me for a good moment. Long enough, that I’m almost certain he’s going to turn around and walk away.
Finally, Dash’s shoulders drop, and he slouches to the passenger’s side.
I thought I would feel a sense of triumph. Instead, there’s a tingle of embarrassment that he’s so obviously opposed to riding with me.
Is the idea of being stuck in a small tight space with me so unappealing?
Once we’re both buckled in, I unlock my phone, open a GPS app, and hand it to him.
“Type in where we’re going, please.”
Again, he hesitates, but then plugs in his address and places my phone on the mount attached to my dashboard.
Just because I drive an old car, doesn’t mean I didn’t ask my mom to include a few upgrades.
“Co-pilot picks the music.” I reach out an olive branch, trying to figure out how I can ease the stiffness in Dash’s posture and bring back the easy friendliness from earlier in the night.
One of his tantalizing eyebrows notches up, but he reaches for the radio dial after I turn the key in the ignition. My engine growls, sending vibrations through the seat. With Dash beside me, the sensation is somehow naughtier than I ever considered it could be.
I doubt he notices.
Instead of watching his long fingers press my buttons, I focus on shifting into the right gear as I pull out of the parking spot, following the directions presented by my GPS in a sexy Australian accent. Out of the corner of my eye I think I catch a slight twitch of Dash’s mouth, but I’m not sure.
He settles on a hip-hop station. I don’t know the song but attempting to listen to the words while also listening to the GPS and traversing New Orleans late-night traffic gives my mind enough fodder, so I don’t have to focus on the guy next to me or the weird happy-sad flutters he sets off in my chest. It’s like my stomach is full of unmedicated manic butterflies.
But another, more insistent sensation makes itself known as we get farther into our drive. A pressure that refuses to be ignored.
I need to pee.
I try my best not to squirm as I break at a stoplight. Dash was right; his house is out of my way. Normally, I would not mind in the slightest, but with every block we travel, I add another minute onto when I’ll have access to a toilet.
Stupid beer. Stupid me for not realizing the alcohol and water would eventually convene in my bladder.
By the time the GPS announces we’re a minute from our destination, I’m bordering on agony. The pain has turned sharp, and I’m not sure I even have the strength to make it to a gas station.
When I pull up to a curb in front of a tall shotgun-style house, I turn to Dash before fully putting the car in park.
“I’m sorry, Dash. I know you’re just looking to go inside and go to bed and be done with me, but I need to use your bathroom, and I wouldn’t impose on your privacy if it wasn’t an emergency, and I swear I’m not trying to sneak into your place to ravish you.” My pleading spills out in one long tumble of words. This time I most definitely fell off the babbling cliff.
He stares at me wide-eyed for a moment, then glances out the window and back at me. “You want to come inside?”
“I need to use a bathroom. Please, can I use yours? I promise I’ll be quick.” Now I am squirming, a pathetic dance that does nothing to release the pressure, just somehow temporarily convinces my body to hold off on wetting myself for another minute or two.
Dash must realize I’m not joking because he nods before climbing out of my car.
I would have sagged in relief if I wasn’t terrified that’d give my bladder the go-ahead to unload. Instead, I hop out after him, following close, but not too close.
“It’s not that nice,” he mutters.
I’m too focused on not peeing my pants to figure out what his tone means.
Instead of going in the front door, Dash walks us around back, and we head up a handful of rickety wooden stairs.
“As long as it has a bathroom, it’s at least nicer than my car.”
