Four Years Later (One Week Girlfriend #4)(40)

Insecurities. I’m a mess. What girl would really want to deal with me? What with my mommy issues and minor drug problem, I’m no prize.

“Since we can’t go home, want to go for a drive?” I ask her.

She turns her body toward mine, her scent wafting in the air, making me inhale as discreetly as possible. “Where to?”

Damn, she smells good. I could breathe her in all night. “I know a place that has a great view of the city. No one will bother us up there.” I might have parked in that very spot a few times in high school. Always taking a girl with me, it was somewhere private where we could make out and I could possibly get my hand up her shirt or in her panties. No worries about the cops coming by unless we happened to be up there past midnight.

I haven’t been to that spot in a couple of years. Once I graduated high school and got my own place, there was no need to sneak around. Why fool around in the backseat of a car when you can get busy and naked in the comfort of your own bed?

But I’m not getting busy and naked with Chelsea tonight. So I’m looking forward to this.

“Okay.” She runs her tongue over her lower lip, then smiles. “Let’s do it.”

I can read all sorts of things in her “let’s do it” statement but I ignore the urge. Instead I smile, reach out, and give her knee a gentle squeeze. “Let’s do it,” I murmur, making her cheeks flush as she turns away from me and stares out the passenger-side window.

I see the mysterious little smile that curves her lips, though. And I know without a doubt I am definitely kissing Chelsea before the night is through.

CHAPTER 11

Chelsea

Owen drives us out of the city limits and heads up the Skyway, a road I’ve traveled maybe twice since I moved here. But he’s a local, he’s grown up in the area and he knows his way around, all the little-known roads and spots with the best views.

I’m not stupid. We’re not driving to this spot with the awesome view to check out the twinkling lights of the city. I might not have much experience, but even I know that a girl and guy going to park in an isolated spot to check out the view are going to end up making out.

I both can’t wait and am quietly freaking out.

Neither of us really talks during the drive. We listen to the radio. Owen has it on one of those specialty satellite stations that only plays nineties rock. One song comes on in particular and he turns it up¸ a little wisp of a smile curling his lips.

“Candlebox. This song reminds me of being a little kid,” he says wistfully. “My mom loved this band.”

I’ve never heard of them, but Mom always preferred listening to top-forty-type stuff. Grunge rock was not a part of my growing-up playlist whatsoever. “I like his voice,” I say sincerely. It’s a pretty good song, and I’ve come to realize my tastes have changed over the years. I’ve come into my own, found things I like versus what my parents had me listening to, reading, watching … whatever.

“The words remind me of you,” he says softly.

I turn to look at him, shock washing over me. “How?”

“The song is called ‘Blossom.’ Since you told me your middle name is Rose, every time I hear the words rose or flower, blossom, or bloom, I think of you.” His smile grows, but he’s not looking at me. Just tapping the edge of the steering wheel to the beat of the music, his smile growing as he drives in the dark, cold night.

There’s nothing dark or cold about his admission, though. My heart is thumping so hard I’m afraid he can hear it, and I wish I could say something as sweetly poetic as he just did.

Instead I remain quiet and listen to the words of the song. It’s sad, about love and loss, and I wonder what he means by the song making him think of me. Is it only because of the title? Or does he really think we’ll be over before we’ve even begun?

As usual, I read too much into it and worry.

When we finally arrive at our destination, I’m a bundle of nerves. Owen shuts off the car and puts it in park, then turns to look at me. “You cold?”

“I’m okay.” My breaths are coming quick, and I swear I need to get it together before I hyperventilate.

“Want to go outside? I know it’s kind of cold but if we sit on the hood of the car, it’ll warm us up.” He glances in the backseat. “I have a hoodie back there if you want to borrow it.”

“Why do you want to get out?” I keep my gaze locked on the windshield, impressed with the view before us. We’re above the fog line and we can still see the city since the fog is thin and seems to float like a lacy, see-through curtain over town.

“We can see the view even better outside.” I turn to look at him and he’s got that charming, you’ll-do-anything-I-ask look on his face. “Come on, Chels. Live a little, remember?”

“All right.”

“You won’t regret it,” he says, reaching between the seats to grab the hoodie he promised from the backseat. His shoulder brushes against me with the movement and his head is so close to mine, I could reach out and touch his hair.

Instead, I clutch my hands together in my lap.

“You want to use this?” He holds the black hoodie out toward me and I take it, my fingers curling into the cool cotton. It smells like him, fresh and tangy sweet with that hint of spice. I wish I could hold it to my face and inhale.