“Soon as I get the construction loan. Unfortunately, Bluelick Savings has some reservations.”
“Why? Haven’t they seen your work? You’re the only person on earth who would do the place justice.”
Her faith in his skill humbled him, even more than her driving terrified him. He pried his eyes open and looked over at her. “Let’s just say they’re concerned about my risk profile,” which increased exponentially with every minute spent in her passenger seat. “Lenders don’t get too excited about forking over a couple million bucks to a guy who gets shot in a bar.”
“That’s unfair. You were the victim.”
“Nonetheless, it distracts from my expertise rehabbing historic structures. I need to show them I’m a stable, responsible investment.”
“I can’t believe this. You grew up here. You operate a successful business here. If that’s not stable, what is? The things you’ve accomplished took hard work and responsibility. If they can’t see that, there’s something wrong with them. Could you go to another bank?”
Her outrage smoothed out the worst of his ragged frustration. “I stand the best chance of getting the loan locally.” If I live that long, he silently added as she accelerated.
She said something in response, but her calm, utterly unconcerned voice faded under the pounding in his ears when she came up fast behind an eighteen-wheeler. He gripped the oh-shit handle and jammed his foot down hard on his imaginary brake as she swerved over the broken yellow center line, where another huge truck barreled down on them from the opposite direction. With seconds to spare before they became roadkill, she passed the rig and dropped her Mini back into their lane. He bit his lip to keep from screaming like a little girl.
His terrified lungs took a minute to unfreeze enough to let him suck in air. Once he resumed breathing, he heard Ellie ask, “Don’t you think?”
“Huh?” He made himself loosen his death grip on the handle above the passenger-side window. “Yes, I think I should drive home.”
She glanced at him and frowned. “That’s not what I asked. Tyler, are you feeling okay? You look a little pale.”
“A near-death experience always leaves me pale.” At her confused expression, he tapped the dashboard and said, “I can’t believe you were afraid to ride on my bike. You drive this car around as if a collision with anything bigger than a gnat swarm wouldn’t turn it into a rolling coffin.”
She laughed. “I’ll have you know I’m a very good driver. I’ve never had an accident.”
“How many have you caused?”
She laughed again and swatted his arm. “None.”
“Both hands on the wheel, Leadfoot. This is our exit.”
She took the off-ramp. “You’re just a bad passenger. You’re one of those people who always has to be in the driver’s seat.”
He shook his head in automatic denial. “That’s not true. I’m a very laid-back guy. Ask anyone.”
“Yeah, you like people to think you are, but you’re not. You’re a closet control freak. Tell me, when was the last time you occupied the passenger seat, before today?”
“I ride shotgun all the time.”
“Name one.”
“Hell, I don’t know…” Damned if he could think of an instance off the top of his head. “It’s not the kind of thing I keep track of.”
“Difficult to keep track of something that never happens.”
“Bull— Holy shit, red light!”
“I see it,” she said tersely and applied the brake, easily rolling to a stop. Then she shot him an “I rest my case” look. “You’re uptight because you’re not the one in charge.”
He dropped his head back against the seat rest and closed his eyes, silently accepting his fate. “Okay, fine. You’re a fabulous driver. The problem is entirely mine.”
“The problem goes beyond driving. You’re out of practice letting someone else have control, period. I can’t believe you don’t know this about yourself.”
The defensive feeling tried to rush back, but he throttled it because he wanted to hear what she had to say. “For example?”
She hesitated, glanced at him, and then took a deep breath and stared back at the traffic. “Well, during our lessons—or should I say, lesson attempts—you’re always the one in charge.”
“I’m the teacher.”