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A shout interrupts him before I get to hear what it is he needs to feel better. My dad comes striding across the lot and throws us a weird look for hanging out.
“Why aren’t you on the way to pick up the - package?” he demands, recalling I’m sitting there and not on a need-to-know clearance.
“I didn’t think,” I begin.
“Not you, him,” my father barks. “And Rylie why are you in the car? Ethan has requisitioned the boat.”
“Sir,” Ethan speaks up, “I neglected to inform Rylie of my urgent need. I’m certain she’d have done something about it had she been made aware.”
“Fucking hell,” my Dad says. He throws me an apologetic look then adds, “Shit, the – package – is due to arrive at sixteen hundred, get moving and don’t be late.”
“Dad,” I protest, “my class.” I’m in a program to help me study for the bar exam. They don’t repeat it often and it cost a freaking fortune. “The package can get a Lyft. I’m not missing my class.” I look at him fiercely and then add, “Sir.”
I notice Ethan is trying to repress a grin.
“I can drop her off, sir,” he says. "If that’s okay with you."
My heart begins to pound. My palms are sweaty and the island heat becomes unbearable enough that I want to tear my clothes open. I’m going to be a little…what’s the word?
Distracted? Deranged? Horny!
Shit.
The two officers discuss, argue, and strategize. It’s as though dropping me off at my class requires the same precision as planning a foreign invasion.
Twenty minutes after the Great Strategic How-To-Get-to-Honolulu Summit, I’m in the passenger seat cruising down the freeway.
Ethan is driving.
I’m glad he requisitioned the steering wheel because my heart's still beating an extra hundred times a minute. My hands are shaking. When I glance over, my eyes drift to the bulge in his pants. It’s still the most impressive I’ve ever seen, not that I go around checking them all, obviously. Is he possibly thinking of me or is it someone else? His ex wife, Lisa, perhaps. When he slides his glance from the road to me, I sense that I’m on his radar. So I shift in my seat and make sure he can get a good look at my legs.
He catches me staring at the tent his pants are erecting and I bat my eyes.
Can he really want me? Heat rises like wildfire in my body, even thinking the question.
“So, how is your studying going?” he asks, like nothing is happening here.
I’m too nervous to answer immediately. Then I’m afraid he’s going to think I’m a blathering idiot if I even try. “Can we listen to the radio?” I ask.
“Sure, but you answered my question with a question.”
He smiles at me, dimples in full effect.
“Like you, I seem to be studying topics outside the usual curriculum,” I say, because he’s definitely spending more time staring at my legs than out the windshield.
“I suspect your father wouldn’t be very pleased,” he replies, apparently missing my meaning here. Or maybe not. Enough beating around the issue. Time to ramp up the direction. YOLO, right?
“No, he’d kill us. But maybe I don’t care.”
“What?” he snaps, that brutish frown coming over his mouth.
Oh, shit. Did I just say what I think I said? Retreat. Remove foot from mouth.
“I mean…”
He looks at me. I've never before experienced the jolt of power and electricity that tingles through my spine at that moment. It’s as if he’s reading every flicker that passes through my mind. I squirm in my seat and look out the window. As I squeeze my thighs together, my dripping panties squelch between my thighs. I can’t resist a peek to see if he’s checking me out.
He’s staring rigidly ahead but must sense my query because his eyes meander to the side before batting right back to the road ahead.
