Chapter 9
CHAPTER
NINE
MILES
Igrip the handle above the passenger-side window as if my life depends on it.
And while my life has flashed through my eyes more times than I’d care to admit in the last hour, I don’t think this handle is going to do much if I’m T-boned.
My truck being huge plays in my favor—so while another car smashing into my side might not kill me, it’d still hurt.
“Press the button to start it up,” I say as calmly as I can.
“I am! I am!” Miranda shrieks, hammering the ignition button. My truck is an automatic. I have no idea how she stalled it in the first place, but the fact that it happened in the middle of an intersection isn’t helping the stress factor.
Horns blare all around us.
“Why isn’t it starting?” She pushes the button again.
“Is your foot on the brake?”
“Why does that matter?” Her voice trembles as she slams the button.
While I’m pretty sure I could’ve driven with more grace and skill at the age of seven had I stolen a vehicle without any prior practice, I have to remember the most important thing: stay calm.
My driving lessons with my dad over a decade ago weren’t without a few trials, but what I remember most is his calm demeanor.
Nothing riled him—though I’m sure teaching me to drive wasn’t pleasant.
His unbothered facade never cracked, and I think that helped me get the hang of the task at hand more quickly.
No one learns best in a stressful environment, so getting riled up won’t help anyone.
A dick in a silver Volvo passes so close to my door I think he’s going to sideswipe us. Instead, he pounds his horn and flips us off.
“The gear shift needs to be in Park, and your foot has to be on the brake to start the truck,” I repeat the earlier instructions.
“Oh, right.” Miranda bites her bottom lip. Her eyes dart to the gear shift to make sure it’s in Park as she plants her foot on the brake. She pulls in a long breath and hits the ignition one more time. This time, the truck roars to life. She exhales.
“Great. Now, with your foot still on the brake pedal, slide the gear shift into drive.”
She nods and, slower than I thought possible, follows instructions. Before I can warn her about the minivan barreling toward us, she hits the gas, and the truck lunges into oncoming traffic. In a panic, Miranda slams on the brakes. She screams, her hands leaving the wheel to cover her mouth.
I brace for impact as the squeal of the minivan’s brakes burns the pavement. It stops just inches from my truck. The woman inside pounds her horn and flails her arms, shouting what I can only assume are obscenities in our direction.
“Make sure the coast is clear, and let’s get out of this intersection,” I urge.
Miranda flicks her head to either side and stomps on the gas. We lunge forward and leave the intersection with multiple middle fingers waving behind us.
“How about you turn in here?” I suggest that as we pass a high school.
Miranda pulls into the empty parking lot without using her blinker, but I’m so relieved to be off the main roads that I don’t bother to correct that. I point at a row of parking spaces and tell her to park.
The truck straddles the yellow line, taking up two spaces, but it’s Sunday and the lot is empty, so I keep my mouth shut. Once the truck’s parked and turned off, Miranda and I both step out.
My legs wobble—probably a trauma response—as I make my way around the truck toward her.
She bites the side of her lip and looks at me with furrowed brows. “I knew I wasn’t ready for the road,” her voice quivers, and her eyes fill with tears. “It was too soon. I’m so sorry. I’m completely awful at this.”
It’s hard to tell if she’s genuinely upset or if her body is coming down from the massive surge of adrenaline. Hell, my heart is hammering so wildly I could probably cry if I wanted to.
I reach her and take her hands. “No, you did fine.”
She pulls her hands free and places them on her hips. “Be so for real, Miles.”
My voice rises an octave. “What? You’re learning. No one’s perfect the first time.”
“We’ve been practicing in empty parking lots for weeks,” she says, throwing her hands out. “This was hardly my first time.”
“Well…” I search for the right words.
She points her index finger at me. “Don’t lie to me. I suck.”
I shake my head. “You don’t.”
“Miles,” she exhales, exasperated. “You know I do. Just admit it. I’m pretty sure a well-trained golden retriever could’ve done better than me. I literally almost killed us.”
“I wouldn’t say—”
“Be honest.”
I choose words that won’t crush her spirit. “I mean, you’re learning.”
“That’s code for I suck.”
I step forward and run my hands over her arms. “You don’t. You need more practice.”
She looks up at me, her green eyes wide and vulnerable. Her lips press together, and my heart sinks, expecting tears. Instead, she drops her forehead to my chest, and her back starts to shake. I brace myself for sobs, but the sound coming from her isn’t sadness—it's laughter.
She pushes off me and doubles over, holding her waist. “I am so bad, Miles.” Tears stream down her cheeks as a grin takes over. “Like so, so bad.”
I work to stay levelheaded, trying to channel my dad’s calm, but it’s a losing battle. Her laughter is contagious. Let’s be honest, there were a few moments I thought I might die or at least be gravely injured.
“You really are.” I laugh. “Honestly, I think you’re the worst first-time driver there is.”
“Did you see that guy’s glare and the way he flipped me off? I thought he was going to jump out and punch me.”
“He definitely wanted to.”
She drags the back of her hand across her wet cheeks. “Why is this so hard for me to grasp? I’m smart. I can do anything, but put me behind the wheel and I’m like a toddler in a plastic Little Tikes car.”
“That might be inflating your skills,” I tease.
She smacks me on the chest. “Oh my gosh. Now you’re just being mean.” She smiles.
I shrug. “You wanted honesty.”
“Okay, so be honest. Am I ever going to get the hang of this? I think it might be a gift to my fellow humans that I’m a car-service type of girl.”
“You’ll get it. Driving comes more naturally to some people, I suppose, but I’ve never met someone who couldn’t learn.”
“Oh, I’m sure they’re out there. That shit is hard.”
“As you said, you’re smart. You’ll get it.”
Her head falls back, and she sighs, then comes back to face me and shrugs. “Okay, if you say so. But I think we should stick to empty parking lots for now.”
“I agree a hundred percent.” I nod with amusement. “Should we resume practice in this parking lot? It’s empty. You won’t run the risk of pushing someone’s road rage toward a possible double murder.”
“We should still keep watch. Mr. Volvo might come back to finish the job.”
I cross my arms and lean back against the truck. “Don’t worry. I can take him.”
She scrunches her nose, looking me up and down. “I don’t know.” She shakes her head. “I think he could take you.”
“Are you kidding?” I scoff. “The guy was wearing a suit. I guarantee he sits behind a desk all day. His biceps were as big as my wrist. It wouldn’t even be close.”
Her eyes widen. “He looked really strong. I was actually worried he was going to get out and hurt you. He was really buff.”
“Seriously, Miranda? Do you need your eyes checked? He was a skinny dweeb with anger issues. I’m in the gym seven days a week. I’m really buff.”
She tilts her head to the side and takes me in, an unimpressed pout on her face. “I don’t know. You might be strong, I guess. I’m sure you have muscles—like the smaller kind. They’re just not very noticeable.”
“The smaller kind?” I question, confused.
Her assessing stare breaks, and she presses her lips into a line, suppressing a laugh.
I run my palms down my face and blow out a breath. “You’re totally rage baiting me.”
She laughs. “And it’s so easy. Mr. Small Muscles.”
Pushing off the truck, I lunge toward her. She giggles and takes off running around the vehicle. I reach for her, and she evades my grasp, darting to the side and continuing to run. After a few seconds, I catch up and circle my arms around her waist. I spin her in a circle as she laughs.
“Did I hurt your ego?”
Dizzy, the spinning halts, and I hold her to me. Her back pressed against my front, I pinch her sides, tickling her.
“I do not have an ego,” I protest.
She squirms against me. The wind blows her long hair into my face, and the fruity scent that lingers from her shampoo does something to my insides. Desire circles within, and I relish the feeling of her body in my grasp. I let her go.
She steps away and turns to face me, her cheeks a rosy pink. “Are you kidding me? Of course you do. All you guys do. I don’t think there is a professional sports player who doesn’t.”
“Hey!”
“It’s not a bad thing,” she continues. “Doesn’t mean you’re a jerk or anything.”
“Good, because I’m not.”
She inches closer and places her hands on my shoulders.
“Believe me, Miles. I know you’re not. You’re one of the nicest guys I know.
Hell, you’re one of the nicest people I know.
Anna loves me more than anyone else on this planet, and I’m pretty sure she would’ve thrown in the towel on my driving abilities after the first lesson. ”
“So you’re saying I’m the better bestie?” I shoot her a wink.
“Ha, never. Anna and I go way back. You know that. I’ll give you the more patient bestie, though. You have the patience of steel, my friend. Literally anyone else would’ve bowed out as my driving instructor by now. So what should we practice in this lot? Turning? Parallel parking?”
“I’m thinking we should practice turning the truck on and off until you get all the steps down.”
“Um, rude.” She feigns annoyance.
I raise a brow. “Or… valid.”
“Fine. You might have a point.”