Page 187 of Story of My Life
“You already crossed everything off your to-do list,” he said, opening the driver’s door and gesturing for me to get in.
I gasped. “Were you spying on my list?”
“I was calculating how long it would take before we could get naked tonight. Then I saw you almost get murdered by a van.”
“You’re being dramatic.”
“Get in the damn truck, Hazel.”
I went toe-to-toe with him. “Make me, Cam.”
“I still don’t understandhow you drive this thing? It’s bigger than my first apartment,” I complained from behind the wheel as I eased the behemoth into a parallel parking spot on the street between two recycling bins.
“That’s three times in a row you didn’t hit the curb or the bins and you’re eight inches from the curb. You’re sucking less,” Cam said.
It wasn’t much of a victory, considering I’d clipped the cans with his continent of a vehicle twice and curbed the tires three times. But the man seemed remarkably unconcerned with the damage I was doing to his truck.
“Head out of town and grab the highway going south,” he instructed.
“You want me to take this cruise ship out on thehighway?”
“It’s northeastern Pennsylvania, not the 405 in LA,” he said dryly.
“I wanted to make steaks tonight,” I complained as I pulled away from the curb and accelerated at a snail’s pace down the street. “I was going to go to a grocery store and buy actual food to actually cook to celebrate my day of awesome. Instead, I’ve been abducted and forced to drive this continent around rural Pennsylvania because my sex guy hates my bike.”
“First of all, sex guy? Seriously?” Cam nudged the wheel back to the left when I got too close to the shoulder.
“What would you call you? My naked man friend?”
“Secondly, you don’t own a grill and you don’t have a kitchen. What were you going to do, light candles in the yard and hold raw meat over the flames?”
“For your information, I found an old charcoal grill in the garage,” I said haughtily.
He shifted in his seat and pulled out his phone.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m texting. Keep your eyes on the road,” he instructed. “This isn’t the movies. You can’t just ignore the road and stare at your passenger, no matter how hot he is.”
“Somebody woke up cocky today.”
“Baby, I wake up cocky every day.”
Hmm, that wasn’t a bad catchphrase for an alpha hero. I imagined Book Cam saying this while doing the whole sexy doorway-lean thing over my heroine. Ooh. That was good. He’d nudge her chin up all arrogant-like and?—
“Haze, you’re literally fucking killing me,” Real-Life Cam said, snapping me out of my sexy reverie. He grabbed the wheel again, this time steering us away from the center lines. “Are you trying to drive like a six-year-old on her first bumper car ride?”
“Sorry. I was just…”
“Telling yourself a story again?”
“What? No,” I scoffed, refocusing my attention on the windshield and all the things outside that weren’t nearly as interesting as my sexy, cocky hero but that also didn’t deserve to be crushed under five hundred tons of metal.
“I don’t mind when you space out in conversation or at dinner or when I’m making you watch something stupid on YouTube. But there are two places you don’t get to abandon reality,” he said.
I heaved a sigh. “Behind the wheel and where else?”
“In bed,” he said wolfishly.
