Page 10 of Hunted by the Fallen
He mumbles something under his breath, shooting a glare towards the truck. Through the open blinds, I see Preston close the driver door. He’s walking to the frontdoor.
“Can you guys go into the living room orsomething?”
“Not a chance,” Dadanswers.
“Of course,” Mom says at the same time. She grabs onto her husband’s arm and gently pulls him away from the window. “Come on, Oliver. Let’s give your daughter someprivacy.”
“You know how I feel about teenage drivers. Ronnie has no business getting into a vehicle with a boy we don’tknow.”
I sigh. “You know Preston, Dad.” We’d gone to the same school since we werefive.
“Not well enough,” he replies with no sign of backingdown.
“That’s enough, Oliver. I taught Preston in Sunday School for years. He’s a good kid. I trust him to drive Ronnie to lunch with noincident.”
Her words trigger memories of the night Joey drove me and Annie to the concert on my birthday. We were on our way home when a yancor demon came out of nowhere and attacked the car. It was the night everythingchanged.
I watch Mom continue to pull Dad’s arm. They are in the entryway of the living room when the doorbell rings. My heart leaps into my throat, and I feelnervous.
“I’ll be okay,” I try to console my dad, hoping he doesn’t decide to embarrass me when I open the door. “If Preston drives recklessly, I’ll call you for a ridehome.”
Dad observes me for a prolonged second before finally dipping his chin, accepting my compromise. “Fine.” He turns around and walks into the living room. Mom shoots me a bright, excited smile before following him. She’s been waiting for this day for a long time. Between her and Annie, I know I am going to be grilled for every single detail about mydate.
After schooling my expression and straightening my blouse for the second time, I open thedoor.
Preston smiles down at me, showcasing his dimples. His hands are tucked in the pockets of his dark jeans, and his pin-striped shirt has its sleeves rolled up, showing off his forearms. He looks great, and I am suddenly self-conscious of my casual attire. “Hey, Veronica. Ready togo?”
“Y-yes.” I want to kick myself for the nervousstutter.
Be cool,Veronica.
I grab my crossbody purse from the table beside the door and step outside, closing and locking the door behind me. I face Preston again, unsure what to do. Preston gestures toward his truck, “Is it okay if Idrive?”
I nod. “Yeah. No problem.” It’s better than going back inside to ask my mom if I can borrow hercar.
Before I reach the passenger side door, Preston jogs forward and places himself in front of me. He opens the door. “After you,Veronica.”
I smile shyly. “Thanks.” Using the handle inside the cabin, I pull myself up and into the passenger seat. Preston waits until I am situated before closing the door. Then, he walks to the driver’s side and hopsin.
As he drives out of my neighborhood, Preston says, “I thought we could go for a boat ride before we eat lunch. What do you think?” His eyes shift over to me before he returns them to theroad.
“That sounds great,” I answer. I don’t think I can eat at the moment anyway. My nerves are wreaking havoc on my stomach. “You have your boating license, right?” I ask the question for my dad’s sake. When he and my mom conduct their inevitable interrogation about the date, I know he will ask if Preston is qualified to drive aboat.
“Yep. Got it when I turned eighteen. My dad lets me drive the boat all the time now.” He thrums his fingers against the steering wheel, matching the beat of the song softly playing on thespeakers.
I reach for the volume knob, but pause and ask, “Mind if I turn itup?”
“Not atall.”
I raise the volume and the lyrics of the popular country song play in the truck’s cabin. Preston begins to hum to the music as he continues tapping the wheel. I sit back and enjoy the song, grateful the truck isn’t silent. I know I should try to make conversation with Preston, but there is plenty of time for that when we get on the boat. For now, I use the time to convince myself not to be nervous. I’ve been through situations which are much more daunting than a first date. If I can survive multiple attacks by demons, I can manage lunch with my childhoodcrush.
By the time we reach the boat dock, my anxiety is almost gone. Several songs had played during our drive, and Preston decided to belt out the lyrics to all of them. His voice isn’t horrible, but he definitely isn’t going to win the next American Idol. I tried to hold in my amusement, but I lose it when Preston tried to hit a high note and his voice cracked. We’d both devolved into a fit of laughter, and Preston’s singing effectively ended the nervous tension between us. Which, now that I think about it, may have been Preston’s plan allalong.
After we park, Preston hops out of the truck and jogs over to my side to open my door. I am about to thank him, but the words catch in my throat when Preston grabs my hand. His fingers lace throughmine.
“Is thisokay?”
I stare at our connected hands, noting the contrast between my light skin tone and his tan. I look up and see his uncertain expression. It dawns on me that Preston is as affected by our date as I am. I’d always thought of Preston as confident and self-assured, but our conversations have shown he is just an ordinary guy who’s nervous around the girl he likes. I squeeze his hand lightly and nod, letting that be myanswer.
