Page 62 of Heat & Deceit
How does one person take up so much space, both physically and mentally?
“You like it,” he concludes when I don’t respond. “Everyone likes it.”
“Do you often give rides to omegas you hardly know?” I fiddle with the radio, switching it to a rock station, and check the mirrors. My hand pauses on the gearshift, and I blink, replaying what I said inside my head.
“Well, technically, you’re taking me for a ride—”
“And I’m a beta,” I add with a laugh, quickly covering up my mistake. “So, there’s that.”
“Right, I definitely don’t give betas rides home, and honestly, I don’t really give omegas rides either. They never stick around long enough to see the car.”
“Mmm. I do sense a pattern with your dates leaving you.”
He sighs. “My biggest failure is being unlovable.”
“I don’t think unlovable is a word, and I don’t think that’s true.”
“It is.” He shrugs. “I’m the problem.” He’s so serious, my chest aches with my own self-depreciation.
Do Lycus and I have more in common than I thought?
“No. Your problem is you lead with the wrong thing,” I point out with a shit-eating grin. “Lead with the car, and maybe you’ll find an omega who’ll put up with your BS.”
He chuckles under his breath. “BS?”
“Bullshit.” I take my time exiting the parking garage. I know how to drive, but it’s been a while, and I’m not about to be responsible for destroying this beautiful Boxley.
“I know what BS is. I’m only asking why you decided to sayBSand notbullshit.”
“Does it matter?”
“Well, you called me an asshole. It’s not like bullshit is much worse.” He rests his arm on the middle console and leans toward me. His musky scent wraps around me, speaking to a baser part of my being that wants to curl up under blankets and have him buried deep inside of me. “Do you really think I’m an asshole?” he whispers near my ear, hot breath brushing over my cheek.
I crack the window and clear my throat, giving him a pointed look. He holds up his hands and rights himself.
“I think you like bickering, and that means you don’t know when to stop, andthatmight make you an asshole.”
“What Ilikeis someone who can hold their own in a conversation. What Ilikeis someone who isn’t afraid to insult me or call me on my BS.” He gives me a pointed look. “And I wouldlikeit if a certain beta stopped handling my car like a precious baby and started treating it like the lean and mean muscle machine that it is.”
“Listen, Richie Rich. I’m poor. There’s no way I can afford to pay to fix any dents, so forgive me for taking it easy.”
“You’re going,” he leans into my space to check the speedometer, “ten in a forty-five.”
I push him back into his seat and glare at him. “Are you trying to kill us?”
“Do you think we can die at this colossal speed?” His face scrunches in concern. “A snail moves faster than this.”
“I think I like you better when you’re sober,” I mutter. “And for the record, a snail can’t move faster than this.”
“And how do you know that?” Resting his arm on the middle console, he leans into my space again. “Do you have a snail kink,Carm?”
“Because it’s physically impossible,Ly, and my name is N—Carmine.” I clear my throat. “I don’t like Carm.”
He hums. “Well, I like Ly. Oh, I love this song.” He cranks up the radio and starts singing along. His voice is pitch perfect, moody and full of emotion, and god damn him for being a good singer.
I clutch the steering wheel, ignoring the way he falls back into his seat and tips his head back. The position adds a rasp to his already amazing voice. A shiver rolls down my spine, and I file that sound away for the spank bank. There’s something about that husky tone, or maybe it’s Lycus’s performance that makes me wish I knew how to sing.
“Turn left,” the automated voice cuts through the music, but Lycus keeps singing.
