Page 32 of The Storm

An “Oof” escapes Nick.

We’re too close. He’s too much. Of everything. Too tall. Too warm. Too handsome.

“You could try looking where you’re going,” he says.

Too much of a dick.

“You could try not jump-scaring people like a horror movie extra,” I counter.

He picks up my phone and the credit card and weighs them in his hand.

I hold my hand out. “Give them back.”

He ignores me.

“What’s the plan?” he asks with a tone that suggests that no matter what I’ve thought of, he’ll judge it as dumb.

I send him a calculating look. “I’m still picking between options. There’s stabbing you. Shooting you. Strangling you. Drowning you. Smothering you with a pillow… Oh. You mean about Dia. My bad.”

“It’s nice of you to waste my time after begging for help,” he says.

He’s changed into a pair of sweats and a T-shirt, and he’s thrown a flannel shirt over it, and I can’t really rationalize the way my stomach jumps when I look at him, even though it makes me loathe myself. It’s like discovering a strange fetish you have and being simultaneously disgusted and turned on by it. My kink, turns out, is Nicholas Hayes. I’ve stopped trying to make sense of it. The best I can do is ignore it and make damn sure I hide it from him. He knows anyway, but the pretense that he doesn’t allows some of my pride to stay intact.

“Well?” he says with an exasperated sigh. “Are we going or not?”

I swallow down everything Iwantto say and nod instead.

We go outside and get into his car, and I type the address into my phone GPS. We drive in silence that’s only broken by the occasional direction by the GPS lady until we’re on the highway.

Eventually I suck it up and get over myself. “Thank you. I appreciate the help.”

He throws a look my way. “Exactly how painful was it to say that?”

I consider it for a bit. “I would’ve rather had the appendectomy without anesthesia if there had been a choice.”

“While you’re already suffering, throw in an apology for waking me up in the middle of the night.”

“Why?” I wave at the darkness outside the windows. “I thought Satan’s minions roamed at night, so this should be right up your alley.”

“You’re confusing them with vampires.”

“Not going to argue since you probably know the rules better. What with all the personal experience.”

There’s a glimmer of amusement in his eyes, but he snuffs it out almost as soon as it appears.

“Besides,” I say. “I only asked to borrow the car. You volunteered as my chauffeur all on your own.”

“I don’t know if volunteer is the word I’d use. And you’re not driving my car. Nobody’s driving my car but me.”

“What’s up with that?” I squint at his profile. “It’s just a car.”

“Spoken like a true privileged asshole.”

I roll my eyes, lean my head against the glass, and yawn. “I’m leaning toward poisoning you. And just so there’s no misunderstanding, I don’t resist the urge because I’m morally opposed to it, it’s because I’m aware I’d be the prime suspect, and I don’t think jail will agree with me.”

“I don’t know; you’re pretty enough, so you might be a hit in prison.”

“Are you urging me to go for it?”