Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 98846 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98846 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
“Oh, okay. I can wait if you’d like.”
“You don’t have to do that. Why don’t you grab an Uber?”
“Okay. Sure.”
“Great.” My dad claps Kingston on the shoulder. “Remember what I said. You need to ease up on yourself, son.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Take it easy tonight. You’re looking a little flushed.” My dad disappears into his office, leaving Kingston and me alone together.
As usual he makes brief eye contact, then looks away as his face turns progressively redder. He jams his hands in his pockets and rocks back on his heels. “I can drive you home.”
“You don’t need to go out of your way; I can grab an Uber.” I fit my laptop into my oversize purse.
“I really don’t mind. Besides, Ubers aren’t always the best. I’m a very safe driver.”
“I bet you are.” I shoulder my bag and head for the door, Kingston falling into step beside me.
“So I can drive you?” he asks as we walk down the hall toward the arena parking lot. “Friends do that for each other, don’t they?”
“I guess, yeah.” Two people who know each other intimately and try to avoid each other don’t exactly qualify as friends, but he seems to be insistent on this, so I guess it won’t hurt to let him drive me home this once.
“Great. Then it’s settled. I’ll give you a ride.”
I bite back a snicker at his inadvertent sexual innuendo.
CHAPTER 8
GIRL FRIEND
Kingston
I lead Queenie across the parking lot to my car. I’ve spent the past couple of weeks feeling like an idiot for following her home that first day. Every time I see her, I get tongue-tied and I remember things I shouldn’t. I figure offering her a ride home is a good way to smooth things over. I unlock my car and round the passenger side so I can open the door for her.
I wipe my sweaty palm on my pants and hold it out.
She looks at it questioningly.
“I can help you up.”
“Oh, uh, thanks?” It’s more question than response, as if maybe she’s surprised by the offer of assistance.
She slips her fingers into my palm, which instantly causes goose bumps to travel up my arm. Heat shoots down my spine, and other, less appropriate parts of my body react in ways they should not to the brief contact as she climbs into my SUV. I wait until she’s settled before I round the hood of the Volvo, reminding my body that now is not the time to get excited.
I repeat that mantra in my head as I settle into the driver’s seat, set my phone in the dash charger, check all the mirrors, and turn the engine over. I also lower the windows, because my car is filled with the scent of Queenie, and while I can certainly appreciate it, it also makes it difficult for me to think.
I turn my blinker on and check both ways before I pull out of my spot and head for the arena exit.
“I guess you don’t need me to tell you where I live, huh?” Queenie asks.
Heat—the kind that comes from embarrassment—works its way up the back of my neck and settles into my cheeks. “I’m sorry I did that. I just didn’t know what else to do, and we needed to talk.”
“I’m playing around with you, King. You don’t need to apologize.”
“Right. Okay. I’m still sorry, though.” I turn the radio down so it’s not a deterrent to conversation before I signal out of the parking lot and drive toward Queenie’s house.
“It’s really fine.” Queenie pops the button on her cardigan and shrugs out of it. She’s wearing a tank top under it. One with lace accents.
“Should I put the air on? Is it too warm in here for you?” I sound like I’m doing a repeat of puberty and my voice is halfway to changing.
“This is good.” She rolls her window all the way down and rests her arm on the edge. “Do you always drive like this?”
“Like what?”
She motions to my hands. “Like you’re taking a driving test.”
“Nine and three are the safest places to hold the wheel. And in an accident, you’re less likely to break fingers if the airbag deploys.” Also, keeping both hands on the wheel means I don’t give in to the urge to tuck the pink strap of her bra back under her tank.
“Good to know.” She glances at the speedometer. “Careful: you’re over the speed limit.”
I glance down and notice that I’m driving five miles above the posted limit, so I take my foot off the gas and slow down until I’m back where I should be.
“I was kidding.” Queenie crosses her legs and shifts in her seat so she’s turned toward me. “Have you ever had a speeding ticket?”
“Never. I’m a very careful driver.”
“I can see that.”
The light we’re approaching turns yellow, so I slow down instead of risking it turning red while I’m in the intersection. A horn blares from the car behind me, and the alarm on my phone goes off.