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the interior was in pristine condition.
“No.”
Moving my ass further up to the very end with yet another squishy sound,
I cleared my throat. Straightening my back, I opened my mouth, but nothing
came out, not when my mind was stuck on the fact that my soaked clothes
were probably ruining the most likely expensive fabric underneath them.
This was a bad idea. I should never have climbed in his car. I should have
walked.
“Catalina,” I heard Aaron from my left side, “have you ever been inside a
moving vehicle before?”
My eyebrows wrinkled. “What? Of course. Why do you ask?” I queried
from my position at the edge of the copilot’s seat. My knees were touching
the dashboard.
He slid me a glance, his eyes assessing my stance.
Oh.
“Well, just so you know,” I added quickly, “this is how I always sit. I
love watching everything from up close.” I pretended to be engrossed by the
traffic. “I looooove rush-hour. It’s so—”
We came to a sudden halt, and my head and whole body were pushed
forward. So much that my eyes closed on instinct. I could already taste the
flavor of the PVC that covered the refined lines of the dashboard. The elegant
details in the wood too.
Although it never did. Something stopped me midway.
“Jesus,” I heard being muttered.
One eye opened, taking in the delivery truck crossed in front of us. Then,
my other eye popped open, too, and my gaze slid down, finding the
explanation as to why my face wasn’t tattooed on the polished surface of
Aaron’s dashboard.
A hand. A big one, all five fingers splayed across my collarbone and …
well, chest.
Before I could blink, I was being pushed back, an array of squeaks
accompanying the motion. Right until my whole back was flush against the
seat rest.
“Stay right there,” came the order from my left as his fingers heated my
skin across my drenched blouse. “If you are worried about the seat, it’s just
water. It will dry off.” Aaron’s words weren’t reassuring. They couldn’t be
when he sounded just as angry as a few minutes ago. If not a little more.