Page 11 of Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree
I’ve never ridden with Evan. Even when we’ve gone from one place to another at the same time. Milo, Finn, and Chris, sure. But the pristine condition of Evan’s car surprises me. I thought I was meticulous.
“Is this a new car?”
He looks up from his phone. “I’ve had it about a year.”
It looks brand new. The smell of leather mixing with the spice of his cologne is a strange but strong aphrodisiac.
“I sent a text to Chris in case he or Jessie see your car.”
He puts his phone on the stand and drives past my Mercedes, taking the curves slower than he took them coming in. The phone chimes, his Bluetooth automatically reading the text.
“From Chris.Try to be nice.”
“Goddamn it. I’mbeingnice,” he grumbles.
“You are. I appreciate the ride.” I almost ask what he expects in return.
Nothing is free.
But I don’t want to spoil this tentative peace between us. After battling for the last six months, the lack of bickering is a breath of fresh air. I lean against the door and study Evan in the lights from the dash. His hair is mussed like a girl just ran her fingers through it, and I fight the prick of jealousy. It wasn’t a girl. It was probably him. That’s one of his anxiety moves—running his hands through his hair repeatedly.
I can’t help but fixate on the strong jaw covered in a day’s growth and the angular nose that shouldn’t add to his appeal but does anyway.
“Do I have something on my face?”
“Huh?”
His lips quirk, and a small dimple pops on his cheek. What would the softness of his mouth feel like in contrast to the scruff surrounding it?
“You’re staring.”
Shit.Busted.
“Umm…”
“So, do I? Have something on my face?”
“N-no.” I fidget in my seat until I’m focused on the road ahead of us. We’re a lot closer to my condo than I realized. “You remember where I live?”
The guys have been to my condo once. It was right after I signed with the band, and we all had swung by so I could change before a fancy celebration dinner.
“We used to live in a building around the block. When we were first starting out.”
For a split second, I wonder if he remembers because he thinks about me the way I think about him. But his explanation makes sense and breaks the building bubble of excitement before it can grow too big.
“Oh.”
I’m angry. But not at him. At myself. I need a break. Before I have a mental breakdown.
Hollie Berry is calling my name.
He’s silent again, and I stare out the window, my fingers on the handle as soon as my building comes into view.
“Thanks for the ride.” I should sound more grateful, but at this point, I need to get out of this car.
“Hold on,” he says, wrapping long, slender fingers around my upper arm when I open the door. “What the fuck is your problem?” His brow is furrowed, his lips turned down in a frown.
“Not a damn thing.” I yank my arm out of his grip. “See ya later.”
