Page 54 of Into These Eyes
Instead of kicking me out, she chuckles. “You think I’m some crazy, reckless female driver?”
“Unless you’ve got eyes in the back of your head, I don’t think it matters what sex you are.”
“Damn, you figured out my secret.”
Her eyes glint with amusement, releasing my tense muscles.
“Right,” I say. “I’ll need proof of that, I’m afraid.”
She giggles. It’s such a sweet, melodic sound, I lose myself for a moment. Hearing her laugh like that, as if she doesn’t have a care in the world, does something fucking wonderful to my soul. I want to make her laugh like that all the time. Then she points at a screen mounted in the middle of the dash, angled slightly toward her.
I’m an idiot. And now she knows it. “A camera?”
“Yep. The eyes in the back of my head.”
“I’m definitely behind the times.”
“Not your fault,” she says as she reverses. This time I watch her concentrate on that screen. It feels strange. The urge to look over my shoulder is still ingrained after all this time, but I resist.
She grins as she turns that dial on the console again and we move forward.
Out on the road, fifty or so metres in front of us, a car decides to pull out instead of waiting a few seconds for us to pass first. At that precise moment, Jamie takes her attention off the road tostare at me. When I glance into her footwell, I discover her foot isn’t even on any of the pedals, let alone the brake.
“Jamie!” I blurt, slamming my hands against the dash, sure we’re about to plough into the back of the other car.
“It’s fine,” she laughs, her eyes sparkling with amusement.
And then I feel it. Even though she’s done nothing to hit the brakes, her car slows down. Studying the vehicle in front, I realise we’re neither gaining nor dropping back, but keeping pace. When I let out a breath, my heart decides it’s safe to beat again.
Too soon, apparently, because now she’s taken both hands off the wheel to stretch. I snap my eyes back to the road, watching as we approach a bend.
I don’t like this feeling at all. No control and no escape from this travelling projectile. My life is literally in her hands and she’s not even using them.
Gripping the seatbelt, I wait for us to cross to the other side of the road. Instead, the steering wheel turns on its own, navigating the bend perfectly, never losing pace with the car in front.
Once we straighten, she put her hands back on the wheel and shoots me a smug glance, her eyes dancing with delight.
“What?” she asks, all innocent, like she hasn’t almost given me a bloody heart attack.
“Jesus, woman. What the hell?”
“Not scared of how I drive, are you?”
“How can I be when it appears you aren’t driving at all?”
She laughs, clearly having fun at my expense. As much as my heart’s jackhammering, it’s lovely to see her like this. I never thought I’d have the pleasure of witnessing this playful, carefree demeanour, let alone be the reason for it.
But it worries me, too. She suffered a huge blow only a few short days ago. I can’t see how this happiness is genuine. I think she’s using it to cover up the pain deep inside. And that nevercomes to any good. Though, God knows, I want more of her laughter and those smiles that reach her eyes.
“I hadn’t thought about you never travelling in a car like this. Not until you freaked out when I started reversing.”
“I didn’t freak out,” I lie.
“Ha! Sure you didn’t. Naturally, I had to give you a demonstration.”
“You could’ve warned me first.”
She shrugs. “I’m not sure that would have been quite as much fun. But, fair enough. Wait until you see what’s next,” she says with a little too much glee.
