Conflicted

His tactic works, because I’m no longer thinking about Duane. Now I’m wondering how the fuck I’m going to handle a two-hour car ride with Aaron Wilmot when I can’t seem to go a half hour without doing something to embarrass myself.

We catch the elevator down to the basement parking lot and get into his silver BMW, which I don’t doubt cost more than I’ll earn in my first ten years of employment. I buckle up my belt, breathing in the musky, sweet scent that is a mix

of new car smell and Aaron. I breathe in again. It’s his shampoo. Or maybe his body wash. An image of him showering flashes into my head, causing my body to react in ways I wish it wouldn’t.

“What are you thinking?”

His voice cuts through my thoughts and I quickly turn to stare out the window so he can’t see the colour I’m sure is spreading over my cheeks.

“Nothing,” I mumble. “I’m too nervous to think.”

He lets out a low laugh. “You’ll be fine, Lacey. You’re not even meeting him today. Everything we do today will be completely observational.”

His words put me at ease and I find myself relaxing. I glance at the clock; it’s nearly eleven.

“What time is the assessment?” I ask.

“One. It should only go for an hour. I’ll have you back home before five.” He leans forward and flicks the radio on. “Any requests?” he asks.

I shake my head. I’ll listen to anything, besides metal and country, and I can’t see Aaron being into either of those things.

The more into the drive we get, the more relaxed I become. At one point I find myself singing along to a Foo Fighters song. I quickly shut up when I realize what I’m doing.

“Don’t stop on my account,” Aaron chuckles.

“Sorry,” I mutter. I wince and look out the window so he can’t see my telltale blush.

“Don’t be,” he replies. “It’s cute.”

Cute? I cringe as he continues to chuckle away.

“You’re an interesting girl, Lacey.”

“Just what every woman wants to be called,” I quip. I don’t add that “girl” makes me feel like I’m five and not the twenty-two-year-old I actually am.

“Interesting is a good thing. People get bored of normal.”

“Compared to my friends, I’m as boring as it gets.”

He doesn’t look convinced.

“My idea of a big night out is staying up past ten.”

“That wasn’t the impression I got last week,” he says. His eyes are on the road, meaning I can’t work out what he means by that. Then I remember how short that damn dress was that Lucas made me wear and I cringe.

“That wasn’t a good representation of how I usually am,” I reply.

“Spoken like a lawyer’s daughter,” he says.

I glare at him and he laughs.

“I’m sorry, but you’re really easy to wind up.”

“What made you want to become a lawyer?” I ask, changing the subject.

“I guess I wanted to make a difference.” He shrugs. I can understand that.

“Defence is an interesting way to do that,” I observe. If you want to make a difference, why not put away the bad guys?