Page 132 of His To Erase
He pulls out onto the road. No questions. No music. Just his hand gripping the wheel and his eyes locked on the roadlike there’s nothing in the world that can shake him. Which is hilarious, considering I feel like I’m barely held together by willpower and Aquaphor right now.
I shift in my seat, trying not to look at him, which ends up being an epic fail. He’s all sharp angles and silent fury, his jaw is tight enough to crack bone. One hand grips the wheel like it’s a neck he’s thinking about snapping, and I can’t stop staring at the way his forearm flexes, causing his veins to pop out like a roadmap to a bad decision I’d crawl into headfirst.
He's pissed and somehow, that only makes it worse. Because I should be scared, or at least cautious—but all I can think about is what those hands would feel like wrapped around my thighs instead of the steering wheel. I clearly have an imagination problem where I’m constantly visualizing what those hands could do.
I open my mouth to say something, only to close it again, because what am I supposed to ask…Where are we going? Also? Still not over the part where you somehow have a key to my apartment. That’s not creepy at all. And… you don’t get to storm in like that and act like this isn’t a whole new level of fucked up. Because I don’t even know if this is damage control or the next disaster.
I don’t ask any of it because I’m not even sure he would answer. Not the way I want him to. Instead, I stare out the window and force my breathing to stay even.
Goddamn him.
After a few more blocks, I finally get enough courage to speak. The silence was starting to feel like a second skin I can’t peel off.
“Is this normal for you?” I ask quietly, not looking at him. “Picking up strays and driving them someplace like you’re not even curious what the story is?”
His knuckles flex around the steering wheel and I swear, the air in the car tightens with him. He doesn’t answer. Not right away. He just keeps driving, like he’s letting the question hang long enough for me to choke on it. And it’s working. I’m starting to question everything—my sanity, my instincts, the fact that I texted a man I barely trust and then followed him into the dark like it was normal. Maybe I am the problem here.
I’ll deal with that later—when I can fucking breathe.And when I know I’ll live to see tomorrow.
I don’t know if it’s the car, the night, or the man behind the wheel, but it feels like I’m suffocating without anyone touching me. My fingers dig into my thighs enough to feel something that reminds me I’m still alive.
When he finally speaks, his voice is low. “You think I do this often?”
I blink, turning my head toward him, unsure if I heard him right.
Yeah, well. You didn’t have to come get me.The fucking audacity on this man, like I’m the one projecting.
My laugh is dry, “You’re avoiding the question.”
He glances at me, and the look he’s giving me knocks the air out of my lungs without even touching me.
“Maybe,” he says. “Or maybe I just think you’re smart enough to figure it out.”
God, I hate him.
I hate that I-see-right-through-you energy that makes me feel more naked than I’ve ever been. I open my mouth ready to snap something back, but once again the words don’t come because the truth is—I don’t want an answer.
Whatever this is—whatever he is—it doesn’t come with explanations. It comes with tension, and silence, and a storm in the shape of a man who keeps showing up right when I’m about to break.I just haven’t decided if that’s a coincidence
I also hate that I feel safer with him than I do in my own fucking apartment, so I turn back to the window and let him drive.
“I can feel you thinking,” I mutter, crossing my arms and leaning my forehead against the glass.
“I’ve got nothing to hide.”
I bark a humorless laugh. “Oh, that’s rich. Coming from the man who somehow got into my apartment and dragged me into the night without so much as a where-the-fuck-are-we-going.”
“You didn’t ask.”
“You wouldn’t have answered.”
“That didn’t stop you from following.”
My head snaps toward him, heat flares under my skin like a fuse was lit. “I didn’t exactly have a lot of options.”
“You really think I didn’t notice?” he says, keeping his voice low and calm. But it lands like he’s twisting a knife, just to see how deep it’ll go.
I glance over. “Notice what?”
