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Mitch took me back to my mom’s, I ingested my antibiotics, and then they left together to start putting boxes in her secret storage unit. I was given a large navy suitcase to decant my essentials into so I piled in winter clothes, my skincare bits, and about thirty books too many, before attempting to start working on the zipper. Impossible, obviously. I took out the skincare and whipped it shut.
Naturally it starts pouring down when I realise that my raincoat is at the bottom of the case so, needing an alternative, I pull on a hoodie instead and then I head out of my mom’s house.
Mitch and my mom were supposed to be back by now so I decide to wait for them in the little shielded bit over our front door - that is, until I see another truck pulling up onto the street.
It turns out that the scraggy metal death-trap I pitch-forked my fist on was Mitch’s, and the sexy black Ford truck I spotted on his curb yesterday belongs to Tate. Before he has a chance to park in front of the driveway I yank up the suitcase handle and begin speed-wheeling it to the sidewalk.
He opens his door and drops his legs down over the step. He’s so tall that his feet are planted on the curb, knees bent.
“Backpacking?” he asks, with one large hand still gripped around the steering wheel. I can see the tendons of his forearm flexing through the sleeve of his shirt.
I walk right up to him and then make a sharpfuck-youleft turn, heading down the street.
“Get in the truck and I’ll put your case in the backseat.”
I ignore him and I continue ignoring him, even as I hear him jog up to me, puddles of rain splashing loudly against his boots.
“You’ll drown in this weather,” he says, a teasing lilt in his bass tone.
I scowl up at him and my glasses streak with raindrops immediately. I keep walking though, stubborn bitch that I am.
He steps in front of me and blocks my attempts to skirt around him. He’s wearing a long-sleeve shirt and it’s plastered to his chest. I can see every curve and ridge of his torso.
Every. Single. One.
“You don’t have to shotgun with me, you can ride in the back with your case if you want.” His voice is quieter now and he looks a bit dejected. And also flushed.
Interesting.
Without a word I U-turn back to the house, dragging the case behind me as the rain lashes at my face. I feel him pluck the case from my hand and I watch as he jogs ahead of me to his truck, opening one of the back doors and sliding it inside.
I roll my eyes at him as he shuts the door. Then he re-opens it, remembering the unlikelihood of me wanting to shotgun with him.
“I’ll drive,” I say, and I hold my hand out for the keys.
He folds his arms over his chest. I wish that my glasses were clearer so that I could get a better view. “You don’t have a licence,” he replies flatly.
I make an impatient grippy motion with my outstretched palm. “I’ll risk it.”
“Get in the car please. You’re getting really wet.”
I am actually. My hoodie weighs about fifteen stone.
I turn away from him and hop into the back. He closes the door behind me, surprisingly gently. When he gets into the driver’s seat I realise that I’ve got a horribly perfect view of him thanks to the rear-view mirror. I slink down in my seat to avoid him catching any glances.
“Your case weighs a lot,” he says as he pushes off the curb and starts making his way to Mitch’s house.
I look down at my hand. “I had to stock up on knuckle-dusters.”
His eyes meet mine briefly and then he looks back at the road. “Would you like some music?”
I stare at him in the rear-view mirror, my mouth agape.Surelyhe wouldn’t-
His fingers move, hovering over the radio button. They pull back slightly. Then he presses it. There’s a CD in the player and I recognise it immediately. This ismyCD. The car is quivering with tension and I don’t think that either of us is breathing anymore.
When he pulls up to Mitch’s house I scramble out of the truck before he’s even stopped the car. I drag my case out with me and it thuds painfully against the pavement. I wouldn’t be surprised if that registered on the Richter scale.
Tate steps out of the driver’s side and closes the door, looking down at me hesitantly. The rain runs like sweat over his skin.
