Chapter Ten #3
Now she’s curled against the window, messy bun slipping loose beneath the cap, and even in sleep, she’s beautiful.
I hear her mumble something, her body tensing as if caught in a bad dream.
Without thinking, I reach out and rest my hand gently on her thigh, my thumb tracing slow, calming circles over the soft skin.
Almost immediately, she relaxes, her breathing evened out again.
It’s a small thing, but it feels oddly intimate—like I’m guarding her from nightmares, if only for a moment.
Suddenly, I realize I seriously need to piss.
I flash my headlights to Dean and Alex so they’ll know to pull off at the next exit.
It’s a few more miles, and in that stretch, I let myself be here with Ayla—her presence warm and soft beside me.
I want to say something, anything to break the tension, but the air is thick with everything unsaid.
Part of me wants to tease her, coax another laugh out of her, but I catch the way she’s clutching the brim of her hat, shoulders hunched.
She’s doing everything she can to hide, and it stirs something protective and raw in me.
As I’m pulling off, my hand still resting on her thigh, she stirs awake.
Her eyes flick down, noticing my hand, and for a second I expect her to shove it away.
Instead, she just stares at my hand, her jaw tight, like she’s weighing whether she wants this—wants me—or if it’s just another risk, another thing to regret.
She doesn’t pull away or say a word. Instead, she shifts forward, nudging my hand even higher up her thigh, but there’s a hesitance in the way she moves, a silent warning: don’t go too far.
For a split second, I think about pulling back, but there’s a charge in the air that makes me want to push my luck.
My fingers slide up, nearly to the hem of her shorts, almost brushing the apex of her thighs, but I stop myself, the tension twisting between us.
Goosebumps ripple over her skin as she squeezes her legs together, a shiver of anticipation passing between us.
I want to ask her what she’s thinking, if she wants me to kiss her or just hold her, but I bite back the words, afraid to break the spell.
The moment is cut short as I slow to a stop and Alex taps on my window.
Ayla and I exchange a glance—something unspoken passing between us, all tension and promise, before we break eye contact.
Ayla climbs out of the car, tugging her hat low and keeping her head down, just as Alex swoops in and throws an arm around her shoulders.
The move is so casual it might be possessive, might just be Alex being Alex, but the way his eyes flick from Ayla to me and back again feels…
loaded. He leans in a little too close, dropping his voice: “Long drive. You good?”
“I’m fine,” Ayla mutters, her tone too bright.
“Just need to pee and maybe not get recognized by every security cam in upstate New York.” She tries to laugh, but it comes out thin.
Dean and I hang back, but I catch Alex’s gaze tracking Ayla’s every move, something sharp and almost suspicious in his eyes.
He doesn’t say anything else, but the air feels tight, like he’s waiting for her to slip up—or for me to do something he’ll call me out on.
Inside, we grab some food. “How’s the drive?” Alex asks, but it’s not casual; he’s watching me, like he’s waiting for me to give away a secret.
I shoot him a grin. “Good, man. Ayla hasn’t thrown me out of the car yet, so I must be doing something right.”
Dean snorts. “That’s because you don’t play your weird music, Zayn.”
Ayla jumps in, rolling her eyes. “Oh my God, Zayn tried to make me listen to Norwegian death metal. I threatened to jump out while we were moving. He called me a coward.”
Alex arches a brow, but there’s a smile tugging at his lips. “You know, I once made Dean listen to yodel remixes for an entire road trip. He didn’t talk to me for two days.”
Dean groans, “It was three days, actually. I have scars.”
Ayla laughs, but there’s an edge to it—too loud, too bright, like she’s brimming with nerves, good and bad. “I’d trade all of you for a working aux cord and a bag of Twizzlers.”
Alex grins, but his gaze lingers on her, eyes narrowing just a fraction. “What else did you two talk about?”
I wink at Ayla. “We covered the important stuff. Her favorite color, comfort food, how she’s a secret cat person. I’m still recovering from the spaghetti debate.”
“It was not a debate. You just have bad taste in noodles.”
Dean snickers. “This is why we don’t let Zayn drive on real food runs. He’d come back with a box of Pop-Tarts and a single carrot.”
The conversation trips over itself, everyone talking at once, teasing and covering nerves with jokes.
But I catch Alex’s eyes again—still sharp, still watching.
For a second, the tension spikes, almost funny if it weren’t so raw.
He finally snorts, “Just keep your eyes on the road, Hallow. And try not to get us arrested.”
Ayla bumps my arm, grinning, but I notice her glance at Alex, like she’s checking to see if she’s crossed some invisible line.
The whole thing is messy, overlapping, and a little chaotic, but it’s the first time in days I hear her really laugh—wild and nervous and alive.
Even in the middle of all this, it feels like something real is building between us.
And maybe, just maybe, Alex notices it too.