Crazy Girl(71)

“I—”

“Spit it out, slick,” I demanded. “These aren’t complicated questions.”

“Uh…I…drive for Uber. I was her Uber home,” he stuttered.

I’d done several tours in Afghanistan and traveled to several countries in the Middle East between my time in the Marines and my time in security. I’d had the misfortune of witnessing many horrific things. I’d also witnessed, or rather felt things that are hard to describe outside of scientific wording.

Blast waves were one of those things. The scientific description of this would be like when a bomb explodes, the area around the explosion becomes over pressurized, resulting in highly compressed air particles that travel faster than the speed of sound. The wave will dissipate over time and distance and exists only for a matter of milliseconds. But the way it feels to exist within those milliseconds, to be so close to it is hard to explain. There’s an eerie quiet, almost like the world has just been vapor-sealed and time has slowed, allowing you to move and think faster.

The minute the geek in the car informed me he’d simply been Hannah’s Uber driver, I felt like I was in a blast wave, and as time slowed, my mind was able to process the situation at the speed of light just how stupid I looked.

You know that moment?

You know the one.

The one we’ve all experienced.

That moment when you make a complete ass out of yourself.

Yep.

That was one of those moments for me. Stepping back from the car, processing what a gigantic tool I must look like, I belatedly noticed the Uber sticker on the back glass of the guy’s car. From my peripheral vision, I could see Hannah standing, watching me with her arms crossed.

“Uh…can I go now?” the Uber driver asked.

“Yes,” Hannah told him, giving him a wave. “Sorry about all…” she looked to me, then shook her head “…this.”

Backing away, I kept my stare fixed on the car as it reversed out and drove away until his taillights disappeared into the darkness. Even when he was completely out of sight, I still stared. Where else was I supposed to look? At her? Yeah…I wasn’t quite ready for that. I needed a minute. A man does not like many things, but being wrong and being a fool tops the list. I’d just acted like a total asshole to a guy who was simply a cab driver because I was jealous and thought he’d been on a date with Hannah.

With that thought, I spun around and faced her. “Were you on a date tonight?” Yeah…I wasn’t done digging my hole just yet. Had to push a little further to completely humiliate myself.

Walking up to me, she took my hand. “You’re cute when you’re jealous.”

As she pulled me behind her toward her front porch, I said, “I wasn’t jealous. I was just asking the guy some questions. For safety purposes.”

After she’d taken the first step she turned to me, a smirk that indicated she thought I was ridiculous spread across her face. “You were jealous.” She poked my chest.

“I notice you still haven’t answered the question.”

Letting out something between a snort and a laugh she asked, “You gonna get tough with me if I don’t answer? Well, are you?” Then she chuckled. “Spit it out, slick,” she imitated me with a deepened voice. “These aren’t complicated questions.”

Letting my head fall back, I let out a groan of frustration. She would never let me live this down. I momentarily wondered if being wrong was worse than if I had been right. Okay, being right would have sucked worse.

“What’s going on with you?” she asked quietly. I kept my head back, my face to the sky, not wanting her to see how dumb I felt.

“I’m sorry I’ve been…quiet. I’ve had some personal stuff going on.”

There was a pause, a long and silent moment where I wondered if she was contemplating telling me to leave, since technically I was hiding shit from her, before I felt her fingers thread my beard tugging down on it, forcing my eyes to meet hers. Her gaze moved to my mouth then flicked back to my eyes, a subtle smile taking over her lips. Leaning toward me, she stopped when her mouth was but a breath from mine. “No,” she whispered, the heat of her breath heavy against my lips. “I wasn’t on a date.”

Moving my hands to her hips, I squeezed them, relief flooding me. “I had no right to show up and behave like that.” I swallowed, the smell of her lip gloss making me impatient to kiss her. “I don’t like thinking about you with another man,” I admitted, our mouths still close.

Pulling back for a moment, she kept her stare fixed on mine and parted her mouth as if she were on the verge of saying something to me, but then stopped short. Taking my hand again, she lifted it and kissed it, letting her lips drag slowly over my knuckles. “Would you like to spend the night?”

“There’s no place I’d rather be than in bed with you tonight.”





“When all else fails, write what your heart tells you.

You can’t depend on your eyes when your imagination is out of focus.”

-Mark Twain





Passion.

A strong and barely controllable emotion.

Lust.

A very strong sexual desire.

Love.

An intense feeling of deep affection.