The Hook Up
Page 26
I love that part of his body, the vulnerability of his sensitive skin. I love the little hollows just above his collarbones where his neck dips down to meet his shoulders, and I know that if I press my mouth to that tender spot and suckle it, he’ll give me a helpless, near whimper of sound that he always does when I kiss him there. I almost whimper myself. Did I miss him?
“Yes.”
I can feel him smile against my cheek. “Good.” The tips of his fingers graze under my jaw, just over my racing pulse.
“Is this your car?” I blurt out. Smooth. Either Drew likes to lean on strangers’ cars or I’m the idiot who’s stating the obvious.
Drew draws back a little and glances at it. “Yep.”
“It’s gorgeous.” I’m a wimp. Taking the coward’s way out of Dodge.
His tilted smile is wry. He knows I’m trying to distract him, and it clearly amuses him. But he plays along. Drew turns and lovingly runs his palm over the glossy hood of the car. “This here is Little Red.”
“Little Red,” I repeat. It makes me think of what he called me the first time we talked: Big Red. The moment I decided to hate him. And I wonder how it is that I’m here now. How has this happened? Me wanting him more than my next breath. Me needing him more than I’ve ever needed anyone.
Perhaps he feels my tension, because he eyes me carefully. “It’s a term of affection, you know,” he says in a low voice. “Anyway, I didn’t name her.”
“Her?”
“All cars are ladies, Jones.” He winks. And it ought to be cheesy, winking like that, but it’s not. It makes me want to kiss his cheek. He’s not only sexy, he’s f**king adorable. And he’s completely ignorant of my moony expression because he’s back to stroking his car. “She’s a 1971 Chevy Camaro Z28.” His expression dims a little, becoming almost bittersweet. “She was my dad’s. He got her at a junkyard and restored her from the frame out.”
His pride rings clear, and he gives the car another pat. “It drove my mom nuts when he spent his weekends tinkering with Little Red, but she knew how much he loved it so…” He shrugs.
“Did you ever work on it?”
“Mostly it’s only tune ups and belt changes now, but, yeah, I know how to fix a car, if that’s what you’re asking.” A little mischief brews in his dark eyes. “Want to go for a ride?”
“Now?”
“No. Three hours from now,” he deadpans. “I figure you can get in your pjs, maybe sleep for a while, then we’ll go out.”
“Smart ass.”
He’s already opening the passenger door. “Come on, Jones, ride with me.”
I hesitate.
“It’ll be nice and warm with the heat on,” he adds.
The Camaro’s dark interior gleams in the yellow glow of the parking lot light. Drew is waiting. He wants to kiss me. He wants everything.
I take a little breath. “Okay, but this thing had better go fast.”
“She’ll set your hair straight.” He gives one of my curls a playful tug before closing the door behind me.
Inside, the car smells of old leather and a bit of Drew’s shaving cream. It’s that subtle scent of Drew that makes me sink into my seat and inhale deeply. Then he’s getting into the car. His grin is like a kid’s when he turns the key and the car rumbles to life with a growl.
“Oh, yeah, baby,” he says to her, “purr for me.”
“Would you like a little time alone?” I ask, but I love the way he appreciates his car.
His dimple deepens. “This is a shared experience, Jones. Get with the program. Now buckle up.”
I do as ordered and happily sit back as he pulls out of the lot. He goes slow through the campus, turning on the heat and fiddling with the radio. Soon I’m warm enough to pull off my coat, and Led Zepplin’s Kasmir fills the silence.
“You weren’t kidding about the classic rock,” I say, taking a look around the dash. “I’m surprised there isn’t an eight-track in here.”
“I’m surprised you know what an eight-track is.”
“Likewise.”
He laughs. “Dad put in a new stereo the year before he—”
He stops talking and turns out onto the main road. The car springs forward with a throaty little rumble.
“It’s a beautiful car,” I say to fill the awkward silence. I hate that he hurts, that he misses his parents. “I’m glad you have it.”
“I am too.” He’s quiet for a moment, then smiles softly. “When I finally made straight A’s, he let me use it on dates. It became my personal quest to get laid in here.”
“Nice.” I wrinkle my nose. “And you’ve just put the kibosh on getting any from me in here.”
I flush hard the moment the words are out of my mouth, and Drew snorts. “Damn, there goes my plan.” He sends me a sidelong look. “Actually, the backseat is ridiculously small for a muscle car. Can’t do anything back there but get a leg cramp.”
Much to his amusement, I glance over my shoulder. The seat is small. Annoyed at myself and at Drew’s smug chuckle, I pull out my phone. We’re heading for a large stretch of empty road now, and I know he’ll let the car go then. “This radio work with my phone?” I ask.
Drew nods. “I like old cars, but I have my standards.” He reaches down and hands me an input wire as I download a song.
It’s my turn to smile. “I think you’ll like this one.” I hit play.
His expression is priceless, his nose wrinkled in confusion at the twangy plucking of a guitar and two guys conversing in a beatnik style. “What the hell?”
“Just listen.”
He does and his mouth twitches. The guys are making fun of The Doors now, and Drew snorts.
“It’s the Dead Milkmen,” I say.
One guy asks the other what car dude’s dad got him. My gaze catches Drew’s and we’re both grinning.
“Don’t tell me,” Drew says, just as the band launches into a hard and fast punk rock riff about a Camaro. It’s manic, all drums and guitars and screaming singers.
“Bitchin’ Camaro, man,” I say with a laugh.
And Drew takes off. We’re flying, my back presses against the seat, and I’m laughing so hard my sides hurt. Drew’s laughing with me. We’re mad on speed and ridiculous lyrics. And I don’t want it to end. Little Red eats up the road, gray asphalt is a blur. I ought to be afraid, but I feel alive.
We race along until the song ends and then Drew slows. “That was excellent,” he says.
“So’s the car.” I rest my head on the seat and smile at him. I’m sore from laughter, little aftershocks of giddiness quake though my belly.
Everything is quiet except the steady hum of the engine, and that’s okay. The realization steals over me. We can sit together in silence and feel comfortable. When had it happened? Before I can brood on it any longer, Drew’s stomach growls. With insistence.
“Why do I get the feeling that your stomach likes talking to me?” I ask him.
The corner of his mouth quirks. “Kind of your fault.”
“Oh, really?”
“You fed it once. Naturally it’s going to come asking for more.”
“Naturally.” I snort and then grab my bag. “I don’t know if I should be enabling this development, but I happen to have a sub—”
“Hand it over, Jones.”
“You sure? You’d let us eat in Little Red? I mean this interior is pretty pristine.”
Drew looks at me sidelong. He’s fighting a grin, but he manages to look pseudo threatening. “Hand over the food and no one gets hurt.”
I pull out an eight-inch long section of the party sub I’d taken from the catering kitchen, and he makes an exaggerated groan. “Oh, baby, it’s so big.”
“That’s my line.”
“Yes, it is.”
Snorting, I help myself to a small section of sandwich then hand him the rest.
His groan is real and appreciative as he starts to devour the sub, one hand on the wheel the other lovingly holding his food. “Italian,” he says between bites. “Bless you.”
“You must be really hungry because this sub is mediocre at best.” The sandwich is soggy on the bottom and overly salty.
“I’m starved. I haven’t eaten since before the game.” Drew gives me a quick, guilty look.
It’s harder to swallow my bite. “Thanks for taking me for a ride.” My words are soft in the dark car, and when silence falls, it’s less easy now.
But Drew just shrugs and finishes off his last bite. “Wasn’t anywhere else I wanted to be.”
Which makes the ache inside of me stronger.
He peers down at my bag. “I don’t suppose you have any—”
I have my water bottle out and to him before he can finish, and I am rewarded with another one of his grins.
“You’re a goddess, Anna Jones.”
I affect a casual tone, as if my heart isn’t bruised and bewildered. “Well, since you’re feeling nice and indebted. Can I drive Little Red?” I need something to do, something to calm me before I fling myself at him and offer my undying adoration.
And I have to admire the way he struggles not to react with the horror that’s so clearly stealing over him. I figure no one but Drew drives this car. It has to be the case, because he’s almost squirming in his seat. I’m about to let him off the hook, tell him it’s okay, I get it, I understand it’s a guy thing, when he suddenly pulls over to the side of the road.
“Okay, but—”
“If you make some lame crack about my ability to handle a stick, I will end you,” I quip, just to break his tension.
“I want to live,” he teases. Then looks at me hard, but there’s a gleam in his eyes beneath the scowl. “Seriously, I want to live so…”
“Ass.” I give his peck a light punch before I wrench open the heavy car door and get out. We meet in the middle, the car’s headlights illuminating us. Or rather, I run by him and jump into the driver’s seat, slamming the door behind me. “It’s freaking freezing out there now,” I tell him as he gets into the passenger seat.
My legs hover somewhere in no-man’s land. He’s so tall; the pedals are at least a foot away from me. Muttering about giants, I roll the seat forward, and he snorts. “More like redheaded pixies who need to pull the seat up to the steering wheel.”
“I do not, in any way, resemble a pixie.” The very idea is laughable.
His fleeting gaze travels over my br**sts and hips, and it’s hot. “You might be right.”
I’m only a little flustered when I start the car.
I don’t punch it. I drive fast and smooth, learning the feel of the car and its ticks.
Drew studies me, his body angled in the seat a little. “I thought you’d floor it.”
I shrug as we glide around a soft curve. “I’m getting to know her first.”
The way he looks at me, as if I’ve said something special. I don’t understand that look, it makes me twitchy deep in my belly, so I ignore it and drive. We’re quiet, lulled by the gentle purr of the motor. And it’s nice. The old car, with its soft leather and warm heat, is cozy.
The road is really a big loop, bringing us back into town. I can see the lights of the campus coming up upon us in the distance.
A mile later, I spot an abandoned lot, and put on my blinker. Which is ridiculous considering we’re the only ones out here, but habit is habit.
When Drew speaks, his steady voice is so deep it’s soothing. “You can drive us back,” he says. “It’s up to you.”
I don’t think I can take the feel of his gaze on me any longer. It’s doing strange things to my heart, speeding it up, slowing it down. He drives me crazy, and I’m beginning to think he knows exactly how much.
“It’s okay,” I say as I pull in. The tires crunch over gravel and the car rocks over a small bump. I ease it to a stop, turn the engine off, and promptly realize the error of my plan. We’re alone in the dark, warm cocoon of the car. And while I’ve never shirked from the chance to jump on Drew, everything feels different now. Somehow, without my permission, we’ve grown closer, and I know a decision must be made.
Drew seems twitchy as well, his biceps bunching beneath his shirt as he taps on his knee.
“Let’s change seats then,” I say, not quite looking him in the eye.
It’s clear that neither of us want to go outside, which means only one option. We’ve got to climb over each other. Or maybe it’s the excuse we both need to touch. That we even need one makes my stomach clench.
As soon as we spring into action, the reality of it isn’t the sexy situation I’d envisioned. Not when our knees bash into each other at the same time as my chin collides with Drew’s massive shoulder.
“Ow!”
“Oof!”
I rear back, hitting my heat on the roof as Drew awkwardly falls to the side, his ass connecting with the steering wheel. The Camaro’s horn is a bellow in the dark night. Muttering a curse, Drew tries to get his leg over the console the same time as I do, and we tangle again.
“Move your butt, you big mountain,” I grumble.
He starts to snicker, which sets me off. We both laugh and curse as Drew slides by me and I half crawl to the passenger seat, only to feel a tug on my skirt.
“Shit! I’m stuck on the stick.”
“Yes.”
I can feel him smile against my cheek. “Good.” The tips of his fingers graze under my jaw, just over my racing pulse.
“Is this your car?” I blurt out. Smooth. Either Drew likes to lean on strangers’ cars or I’m the idiot who’s stating the obvious.
Drew draws back a little and glances at it. “Yep.”
“It’s gorgeous.” I’m a wimp. Taking the coward’s way out of Dodge.
His tilted smile is wry. He knows I’m trying to distract him, and it clearly amuses him. But he plays along. Drew turns and lovingly runs his palm over the glossy hood of the car. “This here is Little Red.”
“Little Red,” I repeat. It makes me think of what he called me the first time we talked: Big Red. The moment I decided to hate him. And I wonder how it is that I’m here now. How has this happened? Me wanting him more than my next breath. Me needing him more than I’ve ever needed anyone.
Perhaps he feels my tension, because he eyes me carefully. “It’s a term of affection, you know,” he says in a low voice. “Anyway, I didn’t name her.”
“Her?”
“All cars are ladies, Jones.” He winks. And it ought to be cheesy, winking like that, but it’s not. It makes me want to kiss his cheek. He’s not only sexy, he’s f**king adorable. And he’s completely ignorant of my moony expression because he’s back to stroking his car. “She’s a 1971 Chevy Camaro Z28.” His expression dims a little, becoming almost bittersweet. “She was my dad’s. He got her at a junkyard and restored her from the frame out.”
His pride rings clear, and he gives the car another pat. “It drove my mom nuts when he spent his weekends tinkering with Little Red, but she knew how much he loved it so…” He shrugs.
“Did you ever work on it?”
“Mostly it’s only tune ups and belt changes now, but, yeah, I know how to fix a car, if that’s what you’re asking.” A little mischief brews in his dark eyes. “Want to go for a ride?”
“Now?”
“No. Three hours from now,” he deadpans. “I figure you can get in your pjs, maybe sleep for a while, then we’ll go out.”
“Smart ass.”
He’s already opening the passenger door. “Come on, Jones, ride with me.”
I hesitate.
“It’ll be nice and warm with the heat on,” he adds.
The Camaro’s dark interior gleams in the yellow glow of the parking lot light. Drew is waiting. He wants to kiss me. He wants everything.
I take a little breath. “Okay, but this thing had better go fast.”
“She’ll set your hair straight.” He gives one of my curls a playful tug before closing the door behind me.
Inside, the car smells of old leather and a bit of Drew’s shaving cream. It’s that subtle scent of Drew that makes me sink into my seat and inhale deeply. Then he’s getting into the car. His grin is like a kid’s when he turns the key and the car rumbles to life with a growl.
“Oh, yeah, baby,” he says to her, “purr for me.”
“Would you like a little time alone?” I ask, but I love the way he appreciates his car.
His dimple deepens. “This is a shared experience, Jones. Get with the program. Now buckle up.”
I do as ordered and happily sit back as he pulls out of the lot. He goes slow through the campus, turning on the heat and fiddling with the radio. Soon I’m warm enough to pull off my coat, and Led Zepplin’s Kasmir fills the silence.
“You weren’t kidding about the classic rock,” I say, taking a look around the dash. “I’m surprised there isn’t an eight-track in here.”
“I’m surprised you know what an eight-track is.”
“Likewise.”
He laughs. “Dad put in a new stereo the year before he—”
He stops talking and turns out onto the main road. The car springs forward with a throaty little rumble.
“It’s a beautiful car,” I say to fill the awkward silence. I hate that he hurts, that he misses his parents. “I’m glad you have it.”
“I am too.” He’s quiet for a moment, then smiles softly. “When I finally made straight A’s, he let me use it on dates. It became my personal quest to get laid in here.”
“Nice.” I wrinkle my nose. “And you’ve just put the kibosh on getting any from me in here.”
I flush hard the moment the words are out of my mouth, and Drew snorts. “Damn, there goes my plan.” He sends me a sidelong look. “Actually, the backseat is ridiculously small for a muscle car. Can’t do anything back there but get a leg cramp.”
Much to his amusement, I glance over my shoulder. The seat is small. Annoyed at myself and at Drew’s smug chuckle, I pull out my phone. We’re heading for a large stretch of empty road now, and I know he’ll let the car go then. “This radio work with my phone?” I ask.
Drew nods. “I like old cars, but I have my standards.” He reaches down and hands me an input wire as I download a song.
It’s my turn to smile. “I think you’ll like this one.” I hit play.
His expression is priceless, his nose wrinkled in confusion at the twangy plucking of a guitar and two guys conversing in a beatnik style. “What the hell?”
“Just listen.”
He does and his mouth twitches. The guys are making fun of The Doors now, and Drew snorts.
“It’s the Dead Milkmen,” I say.
One guy asks the other what car dude’s dad got him. My gaze catches Drew’s and we’re both grinning.
“Don’t tell me,” Drew says, just as the band launches into a hard and fast punk rock riff about a Camaro. It’s manic, all drums and guitars and screaming singers.
“Bitchin’ Camaro, man,” I say with a laugh.
And Drew takes off. We’re flying, my back presses against the seat, and I’m laughing so hard my sides hurt. Drew’s laughing with me. We’re mad on speed and ridiculous lyrics. And I don’t want it to end. Little Red eats up the road, gray asphalt is a blur. I ought to be afraid, but I feel alive.
We race along until the song ends and then Drew slows. “That was excellent,” he says.
“So’s the car.” I rest my head on the seat and smile at him. I’m sore from laughter, little aftershocks of giddiness quake though my belly.
Everything is quiet except the steady hum of the engine, and that’s okay. The realization steals over me. We can sit together in silence and feel comfortable. When had it happened? Before I can brood on it any longer, Drew’s stomach growls. With insistence.
“Why do I get the feeling that your stomach likes talking to me?” I ask him.
The corner of his mouth quirks. “Kind of your fault.”
“Oh, really?”
“You fed it once. Naturally it’s going to come asking for more.”
“Naturally.” I snort and then grab my bag. “I don’t know if I should be enabling this development, but I happen to have a sub—”
“Hand it over, Jones.”
“You sure? You’d let us eat in Little Red? I mean this interior is pretty pristine.”
Drew looks at me sidelong. He’s fighting a grin, but he manages to look pseudo threatening. “Hand over the food and no one gets hurt.”
I pull out an eight-inch long section of the party sub I’d taken from the catering kitchen, and he makes an exaggerated groan. “Oh, baby, it’s so big.”
“That’s my line.”
“Yes, it is.”
Snorting, I help myself to a small section of sandwich then hand him the rest.
His groan is real and appreciative as he starts to devour the sub, one hand on the wheel the other lovingly holding his food. “Italian,” he says between bites. “Bless you.”
“You must be really hungry because this sub is mediocre at best.” The sandwich is soggy on the bottom and overly salty.
“I’m starved. I haven’t eaten since before the game.” Drew gives me a quick, guilty look.
It’s harder to swallow my bite. “Thanks for taking me for a ride.” My words are soft in the dark car, and when silence falls, it’s less easy now.
But Drew just shrugs and finishes off his last bite. “Wasn’t anywhere else I wanted to be.”
Which makes the ache inside of me stronger.
He peers down at my bag. “I don’t suppose you have any—”
I have my water bottle out and to him before he can finish, and I am rewarded with another one of his grins.
“You’re a goddess, Anna Jones.”
I affect a casual tone, as if my heart isn’t bruised and bewildered. “Well, since you’re feeling nice and indebted. Can I drive Little Red?” I need something to do, something to calm me before I fling myself at him and offer my undying adoration.
And I have to admire the way he struggles not to react with the horror that’s so clearly stealing over him. I figure no one but Drew drives this car. It has to be the case, because he’s almost squirming in his seat. I’m about to let him off the hook, tell him it’s okay, I get it, I understand it’s a guy thing, when he suddenly pulls over to the side of the road.
“Okay, but—”
“If you make some lame crack about my ability to handle a stick, I will end you,” I quip, just to break his tension.
“I want to live,” he teases. Then looks at me hard, but there’s a gleam in his eyes beneath the scowl. “Seriously, I want to live so…”
“Ass.” I give his peck a light punch before I wrench open the heavy car door and get out. We meet in the middle, the car’s headlights illuminating us. Or rather, I run by him and jump into the driver’s seat, slamming the door behind me. “It’s freaking freezing out there now,” I tell him as he gets into the passenger seat.
My legs hover somewhere in no-man’s land. He’s so tall; the pedals are at least a foot away from me. Muttering about giants, I roll the seat forward, and he snorts. “More like redheaded pixies who need to pull the seat up to the steering wheel.”
“I do not, in any way, resemble a pixie.” The very idea is laughable.
His fleeting gaze travels over my br**sts and hips, and it’s hot. “You might be right.”
I’m only a little flustered when I start the car.
I don’t punch it. I drive fast and smooth, learning the feel of the car and its ticks.
Drew studies me, his body angled in the seat a little. “I thought you’d floor it.”
I shrug as we glide around a soft curve. “I’m getting to know her first.”
The way he looks at me, as if I’ve said something special. I don’t understand that look, it makes me twitchy deep in my belly, so I ignore it and drive. We’re quiet, lulled by the gentle purr of the motor. And it’s nice. The old car, with its soft leather and warm heat, is cozy.
The road is really a big loop, bringing us back into town. I can see the lights of the campus coming up upon us in the distance.
A mile later, I spot an abandoned lot, and put on my blinker. Which is ridiculous considering we’re the only ones out here, but habit is habit.
When Drew speaks, his steady voice is so deep it’s soothing. “You can drive us back,” he says. “It’s up to you.”
I don’t think I can take the feel of his gaze on me any longer. It’s doing strange things to my heart, speeding it up, slowing it down. He drives me crazy, and I’m beginning to think he knows exactly how much.
“It’s okay,” I say as I pull in. The tires crunch over gravel and the car rocks over a small bump. I ease it to a stop, turn the engine off, and promptly realize the error of my plan. We’re alone in the dark, warm cocoon of the car. And while I’ve never shirked from the chance to jump on Drew, everything feels different now. Somehow, without my permission, we’ve grown closer, and I know a decision must be made.
Drew seems twitchy as well, his biceps bunching beneath his shirt as he taps on his knee.
“Let’s change seats then,” I say, not quite looking him in the eye.
It’s clear that neither of us want to go outside, which means only one option. We’ve got to climb over each other. Or maybe it’s the excuse we both need to touch. That we even need one makes my stomach clench.
As soon as we spring into action, the reality of it isn’t the sexy situation I’d envisioned. Not when our knees bash into each other at the same time as my chin collides with Drew’s massive shoulder.
“Ow!”
“Oof!”
I rear back, hitting my heat on the roof as Drew awkwardly falls to the side, his ass connecting with the steering wheel. The Camaro’s horn is a bellow in the dark night. Muttering a curse, Drew tries to get his leg over the console the same time as I do, and we tangle again.
“Move your butt, you big mountain,” I grumble.
He starts to snicker, which sets me off. We both laugh and curse as Drew slides by me and I half crawl to the passenger seat, only to feel a tug on my skirt.
“Shit! I’m stuck on the stick.”
