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It’s a toxic mix that confuses the hell out of me.
He, on the other hand, seems to have everything under control. He looks magnetic behind the wheel, his eyes fixed on the road, his stare blank from what I can tell.
It’s hard to establish whether he is preoccupied with something or simply ignores me.
Even closed off, he captures my imagination. Or maybe it’s precisely because of that.
The chemistry is still there, despite the emotional dip we’ve experienced this morning.
Despite him hate fucking me, invisible tendrils of attractions coil around us, charging the air with electricity.
No wonder I feel so tense.
A few more minutes pass.
“Do you want to drive?” he asks out of nowhere, just as I find a comfortable position and try to relax.
Drive??
I shift my eyes to him.
“Drive?”
“Yes. Maybe you want to see how it feels to be in the driver’s seat,” he says, unperturbed.
Do I sense a bit of innuendo? Irony, perhaps? Sarcasm?
I can’t detect any of that, but why would he use those words?
At any rate, the idea of managing risk has gone out of the window.
I’ll give him points for asking me to drive.
I wouldn’t let myself drive.
Especially now.
“Yes. Sure. I can drive.”
I doubt that, but it’s better to talk about driving than being obsessed with the tension in my chest.
He finds a parking spot, and we switch places. I forget about my nerves and concentrate on driving.
Adrenaline soars through me as I slide into the driver’s seat.
He shows me how to adjust it and goes over the basics with me when it comes to driving.
It’s not like I’ve never driven a car.
I’ve never driven this kind of car.
Clever move on his part to pull me out of my head with this little trick.
I can no longer think about running away, only that we both need to survive this experience.
He knows it.
Although he acts as if things are perfectly fine. The man fears nothing, it seems.
