She’s laughing as she sits back into the red leather and fuck me it’s the most incredible sound I’ve ever heard. “And?”
“And I’m enjoying looking at you. Although, I’m not sure why you find me so fascinating.”
“Why are you enjoying it?”
Licking her lip, she turns to look out of the window. I swear I see her content expression fall, and my lungs crumple with my heart dragging out its beats painfully.
“I feel like I can see more into you. Like maybe I can piece your puzzle together, even though you don’t tell me much.” She answers. Her longing sigh mists her window and I watch her draw a five petaled flower that looks a lot like a doodle of a Buttercup.
My smile is so forceful it overrides the ache in my chest from her wistful expression.
Changing the music from the radio to my iPhone, she turns to look at me with a quirk of her lips.
“I like this song,” she says, as she softly shimmies her shoulders to the beat of Carla Thomas’ Baby. “I watched the film with the heist driver.”
“Baby Driver?” It doesn’t seem like the sort of film she’d enjoy, but then I suppose it has a love story attached to it.
“Yeah, Fleur loves Ansel Elgort. It was really good, better than I thought it would be. Or at least I enjoyed it more than I thought I would. I’m sure it’s a brilliant film, but I’m more of a romantic comedy girl. Actually, I’m just a romantic full stop.”
“I wouldn’t have guessed.” I wouldn’t expect her to be anything but a romanticist.
It’s part of the reason I like her so much, her heart eyes have rose tinted glasses on constantly.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asks, lightly punching my arm before she turns up the Le Freak tune. “Should I start calling you John Travolta? I didn’t have you pegged as a Disco lover, not with all your broody thing.”
“My broody thing?”
“Yeah, you know the whole, I like you but don’t come near because I’m all dark and twisted and I have a tonne of angst attitude.”
“That’s not me.”
“It is though. I mean apart from it making you an arsehole on occasion, I think it adds to the allure.”
I’ve never heard her talk this much, she’s normally the one listening to everyone else talk at her. Not that she’s talking at me, and even if she were, I’d still like it.
I like listening to her. Her voice is soothing and she’s not really the sort of person that tries to talk for the sake of talking or to make an impression. She’s not deep for the sake of it, she’s just her, I guess.
“I’m not a massive fan of Disco, I just really like Nial Rogers. He’s amazing.” Driving up the steep North London hill, I turn the music up a little more and I’m tempted to stop just so I can watch her like this. Cassie’s beautiful in every sense of the word, but right now? She’s something else entirely, I have no words for it. “I don’t have a favourite music genre, but I like the classics. Not just in classical music, I like Soul and Funk and Blues.”
“My dad likes those too.” There’s a teasing tone to her voice, but she’s keeping a straight face.
Parking the car in the deserted car park, I get out and walk round to her side so I can open her door before I collect our food and coats from the boot. I slip the gun from my pocket into the small duffle containing the blankets and the food I asked Arabella to sort out.
Cassie’s leaning back on the bonnet of the Maserati and fuck my life she looks phenomenal with
her hair sashaying with the breeze.
I just want to wrap the messy lengths around my fists and enjoy the way they cut into my hands as I kiss her.
“What are you looking at, Mr. Creepo Neat Freak?” With her head tilted back, the moonlight reflects off her peachy skin.
“You make me sound like some psycho, perfect for TV serial killer.”
“Well…” Her legs open as I come closer, the smile on her face sobers and when I drop the bag with the food and coats beside her on the bonnet, her fingertips roam the top of my cheeks. “You did kill a man.”
My heart knocks on my ribcage as I murmur, “For you.”
“For me,” she whispers back.