The Song of David(40)

We were both silent for half a second before I broke the tension.

“Damn. That really does suck. I do have a beautiful face,” I teased, but my chest felt tight and my throat ached a little. I gasped and laughed as she dug her sharp little elbow into my ribs.

“You know what else sucks?” she shot back, emboldened by my apparent lack of empathy.

“I told you you could only name one. We don’t want to open the floodgates, Millie.”

She growled and continued on as if I were driving her crazy.

“I can’t drive. I can’t run away. I can walk, but that’s not the same thing as just getting behind the wheel and taking off. Instead, I’ve got to rely on meanies like you to take me places. I hate that more than anything,” she huffed.

Without warning, I changed lanes and took the nearest exit at a pretty aggressive speed. It was an exit just past a little town called Mona, and I sped under the overpass and turned onto the frontage road and pulled to the side of the road with a screech of tires. Henry bobbed in his seat belt and changed positions without waking up, conveniently freeing Millie’s shoulder.

“Whoa!” Millie cried, grabbing at my thigh. “What are you doing? We’ve got a ways to go, don’t we?”

“I’m gonna let you drive.”

“Wh-what?” she gasped, clutching at the dashboard.

I adjusted the wheel up to create a little more clearance, shoved the seat back as far as it would go, which wasn’t much farther, considering my size, and pulled Millie up onto my lap, ignoring the warning light that was bleeping in my head. Too close. Back away. Hot female in lap. Breach! Friend zone breach!

“David!” She was pressed back against me, her hands clinging, as if I’d told her we were jumping from a cliff.

“Stop wiggling!” I laughed so I wouldn’t moan, and she immediately froze.

“I’ve got you, Millie. I’ve got you. This is going to be fun. Just like riding a horse with Georgia holding the reins.”

“Okay,” she squeaked, nodding vigorously, her head bumping against my chin, and I chuckled, impressed all over again by her guts and her trust.

I placed her hands where I wanted them on the wheel and she ran her hands down and back up, as if she had never touched anything like it. Maybe she hadn’t. She turned the wheel this way and that and giggled nervously before she put them back where I’d placed them.

“You good?”

“Yeah. Okay. Good.”

“Now, I’m going to be right here to tell you what to do, and I’ll help you steer if you start running us off the road.”

I revved the gas pedal and then placed her foot on it and let her do the same. I could tell she was trying not to bail off of my lap—her body was practically vibrating with nerves—but she didn’t. She stayed, listening intently. I gave her basic instructions, and then I helped her ease onto the road, going about five miles per hour. She didn’t move her hands from two and ten o’clock, and I had to tug at the wheel slightly to straighten us out. And then we picked up speed, just a bit.

“How does that feel?”

“Like falling,” she whispered, her body rigid, her arms locked on the wheel.

“Relax. Falling is easier if you don’t fight it.”

“And driving?”

“That too. Everything is easier if you don’t fight it.”

“What if someone sees us?”

“Then I’ll tell you when to wave.”

She giggled and relaxed slightly against me. I kissed her temple where it rested against my cheek, and she was immediately stiff as a board once more.

Shit. I hadn’t thought. I’d just reacted.

“I would have patted you on the back, but your forehead was closer,” I drawled. “You’re doin’ it. You’re drivin’.”

“How fast are we going?” she said breathlessly. I hoped it was fear and not that kiss.

“Oh you’re flyin’, baby. Eight miles an hour. At this rate, we will reach Salt Lake in two days, my legs will be numb, and Henry will want a turn. Give it a little gas. Let’s see if we can push it up to ten.”

She pressed her foot down suddenly and we shot forward with a lurch.

“Whoa!” I cried, my arms shooting up to brace hers on the wheel. I saw Henry stir from the corner of my eye.

“Danika Patrick is the first female NASCAR driver to ever win a NASCAR Sprint Cup Series pole,” he said woodenly, before slumping back down in his seat. I spared him a quick glance, only to see his eyes were closed once more.