Page 108 of Love Me Stalk Me
I look pointedly at the dashboard she nearly sent me through minutes ago, then back at her. "After witnessing your driving firsthand? I think you need divine protection more than I do."
She gasps in mock outrage. "My drivingis... creative!"
"Is that what we're calling it?” I tease. “Pretty sure 'death-defying' is more accurate."
She laughs, but still holds out the rosary. "Come on, Cal. Your motorcycle is way more dangerous than my driving."
I raise an eyebrow. "I'm a trained professional. You drive like you're playing Grand Theft Auto."
She swats at my arm with her free hand. "I do not!"
"You do. You even hit the curb coming around that last corner."
"It was in my way!"
I can't help but laugh, and she joins in, the rosary still dangling from her hand. After a moment, I reach out, but instead of taking it, I gently close her fingers back around it. Her skin is warm beneath mine.
"Keep it," I say, my tone lighter but firm. "I'll take my chances on the 'death machine.' You, on the other hand, need all the help you can get."
She shoots me a look, all mock annoyance, but gently tucks the rosary back into the glove compartment. "Fine. But if you die in some spectacular motorcycle accident, I'm telling everyone at your funeral that I tried to save you."
"And I'll haunt you for it," I promise.
We make our way to the building lobby, and immediately, I get looks.
Half the people in here are either staring outright or giving me quick, awkward glances before pretending not to. A woman with a stroller nearly walks into a potted plant because she's too busy gawking.
Which, fair.
It's March in New York, and I'm walking around shirtless like it's a goddamn heatwave.
Izzy, of course, notices.
She bites her lip, eyes glinting with amusement. "I mean, you really commit to a bit."
I wink at her. "Told you I'd be fine."
She gives me a look, amused despite herself. We step into the elevator, and the doors close behind us with a soft ding.
And suddenly, it's just us.
Alone.
She leans back against the railing, scrolling absently through her phone, and I catch myself staring.
Her throat, bare and delicate.
Her lips, still a little pink from all the biting she does.
I shift slightly, flexing my fingers. The metal railing is cool against my palm.
Because fuck, I want to touch her.
Iimagine crowding her into the corner, gripping her hips, tilting her head back.
I imagine pinning her here, against the cold elevator wall, the sharp inhale she’d make as I dragged my lips down the side of her neck. Running my hands over her curves, showing her exactly how perfectly she fits against me, how much I want every inch of her.
I exhale slowly.
