“What does that mean?”
“You don’t seem to like much of anything or anyone,” I say, pointing out the obvious.
“I like plenty of things, and people. I just got shit on my mind.”
“I know, and believe me—I have sympathy for you and what you’re having to deal with, but honestly, you’re like a big bear with a splinter in its paw, and instead of letting anyone help you, you’re growling and slashing at everyone around you.”
“Did you just compare me to a cranky bear?”
“I did, and I won’t take it back.” I focus my attention out the window. “You’re not the only person dealing with shit that sucks,” I mumble, and not surprisingly, he doesn’t reply.
The rest of the drive is as awkward as one would expect it to be, so I’m more than a little thankful when we get to the parking area at the base of one of the mountains and I am able to escape the confines of the cab. As he unloads the four-wheeler from the trailer, I sit on the tailgate of the truck and tip my head back to the sun, closing my eyes.
“What are you thinking about?”
His question pulls me out of my thoughts, and I open one eye and find him standing about a foot away with one of the trailer ties in his hand and a baseball cap on his head that looks way too good on him.
“Absolutely nothing, just enjoying the sun for a minute. Do you need my help?”
“No, just gonna back it down—then we can take off,” he says, so I sit up and watch him reverse the four-wheeler off the trailer; then I hop down off the tailgate when he’s done and help him slide the lift back in place. “Thanks.” He looks from the four-wheeler to me with an odd expression.
“What?”
“Nothing, let’s do this.” He goes to the machine, gets on, and motions for me to come closer. I listen to him as he gives me a rundown of the gas, brakes, and how to use them, and honestly, it all seems easy enough. “Do you think you got it?”
“I think so,” I say, and he jumps off and pats the seat.
“Sit here.” With a shrug, I straddle the seat and grab the handles. “Now, I just want you to get a feel for the gas. Pull back nice and slow.”
“Okay.” I pull back on the gas, and I must do it a little too hard, because I end up kicking up dirt as I shoot forward, barely missing Blake when he jumps out of the way.
“Use the brakes!” he starts yelling, and I do—only I do it too hard and almost end up over the handlebars as I skid to a stop. I hold my hand against my chest over my pounding heart and start to turn to tell him that I don’t think I’m cut out for driving when I’m dragged off the seat and wrapped in a tight hug. “Are you okay? Shit, I knew I shouldn’t have let you ride alone.”
“I think I might need another lesson,” I tell him quietly, trying not to think about how good it feels to be in his arms, and he pulls back enough to look at me, then drops his head back on his shoulders and lets out a long sigh.
“Sorry, babe, but you’re not getting back on that thing alone.”
“At least I know what not to do now,” I tell him when he lets me go.
“Yeah, at least.” He throws one leg over the seat, then grabs my hand. “Climb on.” I look from his face to the small space in front of him, and my heart starts pounding for a different reason. “Come on,” he orders, giving my hand a tug, and I carefully put myself in front of him and hold my breath as I sit between his spread thighs. When his hands grab mine, placing them on the handles, and he covers them with his own, his breath brushes against my ear. “Breathe, Everly.”
“Breathe. Right.” Breathing would probably be smart. I mean, I do kind of need oxygen to survive. It’s just that it’s one thing to be stuck in the cab of the truck with him, but it’s a completely different thing to be surrounded by his warmth, strength, and scent. Unsurprisingly, my body reacts to his nearness and warm breath against my ear as he explains what we’re going to do. When he uses my hand to pull back on the gas and we start to drive forward, my nipples pebble and the space between my legs tingles.
Driving a four-wheeler should not feel like foreplay, but as we begin to drive faster and head up the hill into the woods, my breath speeds up.
“You doing okay?” he asks over the engine, and I can only nod, sure he’d know by the sound of my voice how turned on I am, which is as confusing as it is inappropriate. I should not be interested in someone who aggravates me as much as he does. “When we get up to the first turnaround, I’m going to let you take over controlling the gas and brakes.”