Page 14 of Not Falling for the Forward
“This is stupid.” Emily’s voice startles me from my increasingly horny thoughts.
“Me?” I ask, pointing to my chest.
She smirks at that. “If the shoe fits…” She looks up at me. “But no, you getting soaked for no reason is stupid.”
“So is you getting soaked for no reason, when I could easily drive you home,” I counter.
“I could live miles in the opposite direction to you.”
“I like driving,” I shrug. I do love driving, being a passenger again, however, still not quite there yet.
“You're basically a stranger. I shouldn't get into strange men's cars.”
She does have a point, so I nod, “Very wise, we’ll just wait here, then.” I turn and cross my arms again, the rough wet fabric of my jumper scratching my skin.
“What? No. I’ll stay here, you get back in your car.” She puts her thumb up and directs it over her shoulder as if I forgot where my vehicle was. She's pouting now and I’m almost expecting her to stomp her foot. She's cute.
I lift a brow. “So, you're smart enough to not get into my car because you don't know me, but you're not smart enough to have me stay here with you whilst we wait for your bus so you’re not alone in the dark?”
“I… Um,” her nose scrunches as she realises I've made a solid point and she doesn’t know how to argue with it.
Another gust of wind pelts freezing cold rain into my back and blows Emily's hood off her head. She scrambles to put it back up and keeps a hold of it in front of her face, but it doesn't help to disguise the look of pure misery that is plastered there.
Her shoulders drop. “Okay,” she sighs.
“Okay, what?”
“Okay, you can drive me home.”
I grin.
***
Emily
I am sat in a very comfortable, very warm, leather chair that just so happens to be the passenger seat of Jack Cartwright’s car. Jack Cartwright is driving me home. Jack freaking Cartwright, footballer, influencer and gorgeous ladies’ man, offered me a lift home and I accepted. Jack Cartwright, who I have had two interactions with, one of which I was unconscious, thanks to him. Jack Cartwright, whowouldn’t take no for an answer when he asked to take me out to make up for said unconsciousness.
Well, hopefully this favour will make him feel like he has made up for it and we can go our separate ways after.
Why does that make me feel kind of sad?
He has turned all the blowers in the car up to full heat to help dry us out and warm us up. Us, because he’s just as soaked as me, because for some unbeknownst reason, he decided to get out of his car in the rain to stand with me.
“Do you want to put your postcode in my sat nav, or direct me?” He asks.
“Hmmm…?” Do I want him to have a record of where I live? Would it matter? He would know anyway, he's probably one of those people that drives somewhere once and can remember exactly where it is. Chris was like that. He would always say that I’m bad at giving directions, I'm always too late when there's a turning or don't give him enough notice when he had to come off the motorway. As if saying ‘the junction after this one’ isn't enough notice…
“I'll put my postcode in,” I resign, best to save myself the embarrassment of Jack getting pissed off at me and abandoning me halfway home.
We sit in silence for a while, so I take my phone out of my pocket and see that Dan has messaged me a picture of the girls in their Disney princess outfits I got for them Christmas which makes me smile. I had stayed with Dan and his family for a few days over Christmas so I wouldn't be on my own. Chris wasn’t invited to family Christmas, and I didn’t need to ask to know he spent it with his new girlfriend. I think Dan and Chris’ relationship is strained after what Chris did, but Dan would never bring that up to me in fear of me taking on the blame.
I was planning on spending a whole week at Dan’s, but the girls had given me one too many makeovers and I decided I had endured enough. It had really helped being around the kids through my heartache, getting to be playful and creative with them and getting out of your adult head is incredibly cathartic. But there is only so much a childless twenty-eight-year-old who enjoys silence and alone time can cope with.
I message Dan back to let him know who is giving me a lift, he won't believe me anyway, but he will tip off the police if I go missing. “I’m just messaging my friend to let him know who’s giving me a lift,” I turn to Jack to say.
A small smile lifts the corner of his mouth, his face is lit up by the big screen in the dashboard, his strong jaw accentuated by the glow. “That sounded like a warning?” He says it like a question.
“Do you need one?” I glare.
