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“Milwaukee,” I mutter.
Those eyes narrow in thought, and then he says, “Okay. Go with me on this.”
He stands and fishes his wallet out of his pocket. By the time I’ve restored all my belongings into some kind of order, he’s filled out all the paperwork and is accepting keys and a carbon copy of his rental agreement.
“Come on.” He shoulders my two biggest bags, then takes my arm with the hand that isn’t gripping his wheelie suitcase. “We might get rolled for these keys if we don’t get out of here.”
“We… what?” I’m almost jogging to keep up with his long legs, but he doesn’t slow as he hauls me toward the exit. “What’s happening?”
“We’re getting our rental car.”
“Check it out. That’s Santa suit red.” Sebastian pats the hood of the tiniest Chevrolet I’ve ever seen.
All I can manage is a grunt.
My mortification grew and grew during our walk to the rental car lot, and I’m close to combusting from the awkwardness of standing next to this man. His jawline’s even more well-defined in the daylight, and his lips are even lusher and more kissable. I was never supposed to see him again. I was never even supposed tothinkabout last night again. But here he is, and Mr. Saw-Me-At-My-Lowest-Point is even better looking in the daylight.
He glances up at the oppressive gray sky stretching over the rental car lot.
“We need to get moving. We’re maybe an hour ahead of the snow, and I want to keep it that way.”
“You seriously expect me to ride with you all the way to Chicago?” I sound stubborn, hostile even, but his plan makes no damn sense.
“Sure.” The icy wind ruffles his thick brown hair as he dumps his bag and then mine into the trunk. “You can grab a train to Milwaukee from Union Station.”
I have no idea why he’s going out of his way to help me. He should be running in the opposite direction of the crazy chick he took home from the bar, but instead he’s proposing we drive mile after uncomfortable mile together.
“What’s wrong with you?” Embarrassment has me blurting out the question, but I cannot fathom why he’d volunteer to spend one more second in my company after the absolute meltdown I had while we were naked.
His brows snap together in confusion.
Wait, no. That’s anger.
“I am beingnice,” he bites out, unzipping his suitcase to retrieve a puffer jacket that he tosses into the back seat. Unlike last night, I don’t see any warmth in his eyes. Those soft, pretty eyes that followed me all night long at the bar, amused and appreciative without ever bordering on creepersville.
The guy with the nice eyes had seemed like a pretty good dude, and as the night wore on, I began to imagine that he and I were in a club of two thanks to our shared smiles and conspiratorial glances. I’m the girl who’s sworn off anything deeper than easy breezy hookups, but last night I wanted to hold onto that feeling of connection a little bit longer. To have someone on my team for a few more hours before I officially moved into the world alone.
And look how great that went. Not only did he see me lose control, but he was so kind about it. I’ve spent too much time around drunk, handsy men to not be surprised by that. And even before that, he seemed genuinely cool and fun.Iwas the mess he tried to clean up last night, and now he’s volunteering to escort that mess halfway across the country.
He must be regretting it now though; his jaw is tense and hard as he says, “Come with me or don’t.” He jabs a finger at the tarmac, where row after row of planes sits idle. “But I don’t see that you have a ton of other choices.”
“Because you stole my car,” I snap.
“She wasn’t going to give you this car,” he snaps back. “She only offered it to me when I pushed, and she only didthatbecause ofthis.” He jabs a finger at the golden wings on his lapel. “You’re welcome.”
I roll my eyes. “Thank you,captain. How generous of you.”
His jaw tightens even more, and he grits out, “I’ve got places to be, so I’m leaving. If you’re not coming along, get your bags out of the trunk.”
With that, he turns on his heel and stalks to the driver’s side, sliding behind the wheel and firing up the engine.
The petulant part of me wants to let him drive away so I can put this all behind me, tuck it all into a deep, dark box and submerge it in the Mariana Trench. But I don’t see any other way to get back to Wisconsin anytime soon. A nor’easter tearing up the East Coast is paralyzing every airport in its path, and a massive storm system from the Rockies to the Great Plains is doing similar damage to Midwestern travel. I don’t even know if the highways will be passable at this point. Getting into Sebastian’s car is the only option I can see.
Swallowing back a scream, I slam the trunk shut and drag myself to the passenger side. I’m sure neither of us can conceive of anything more awkward than being trapped in that tiny car with a hookup gone wrong for hundreds of miles.
Sure enough, Sebastian’s eyes are straight ahead, his hands gripping the wheel at 10 and 2. “Seatbelt,” is all he says.
I click it and slide my earbuds into my ears. Maybe if I try really, really hard, I can imagine I’m anywhere but here.
