Chapter 9 Cupid
Cupid
My right arm flies out in front of me as we bump along the rumble strips and eventually come to a stop at an angle, straddling asphalt and grass.
I can feel my heart thumping against my chest and my breath, quick and ragged, as I try to gather my wits. I do a quick check to make sure I’m okay. Mostly, I’m just tense from bracing as the car swerved into the shoulder. No damage done, just a bit jarred from the sudden movement.
When Felicity yelled at me to stop, I stomped on the brake without a second thought—and swerved us right off the damn road.
Of course, it didn’t help that I was distracted by the little whimpers she’d just been making in her sleep, trying desperately to keep my eyes on the road and my hands out of my pants.
Now, my hand is resting on Felicity’s thigh, right where it landed when I stuck my arm out as a pathetic excuse to keep her safe. It’s gripped tightly—so tightly I’m worried it might hurt—but she doesn’t seem to care. In fact, she doesn’t seem like she’s here at all…
I unbuckle my seat belt and slide over to where Felicity’s sitting stock-still and staring straight ahead with both hands covering her mouth. She’s as pale as a sheet.
“Felicity?” I ask, slightly panicked. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”
I tug at her hands, press my own to the sides of her head, and turn her face to me. My eyes bounce across her pallid face, then over her body, palms pressing lightly against the curve of her shoulders, then her arms, rib cage, legs, as I test to see if anything is broken.
I know Felicity’s not a porcelain doll, and that we didn’t actually crash or flip the car or anything like that.
I know she doesn’t break so easily. But I’m worried all the same because it’s Felicity.
I’ve known her for less than twenty-four hours, and in that time I’ve figured out that she’s tough as nails—but even nails can bend and break.
Instead of answering, she begins laughing wildly.
I look at her, puzzled. She just continues with her giggle fit, tears pooling in her eyes and rolling down her flushed cheeks. I wipe one away with my thumb—and it’s this action that gets her to look at me, finally.
“I’m sorry,” she wheezes, then hiccups.
I brush a gentle hand across her forehead, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear in a move that barely registers to me. Later, I’ll think about how intimate it was, how I’m not being subtle at all—how I think I never planned to be, with her.
But none of that crosses my mind in this moment.
Felicity blinks slowly. I hold her gaze, my hand now resting gently under her jaw. We stay that way for several long moments, the sound of passing traffic white noise compared to the sound of my blood thumping in my ears.
We both jump when we hear the whoop-whoop of a siren coming toward us. This breaks the spell. Turning in my seat, I spy a police car and immediately duck low, my head practically in Felicity’s lap. Felicity ducks beside me.
“What the hell are you doing?” she asks, a tremor of worry in her voice.
“You have to switch seats with me,” I hiss. “Now.”
“I have to—what?”
“Switch seats with me,” I repeat. “I don’t have a driver’s license.”
“You’re kidding, right?” she hisses right back. “You’ve been driving this whole time without a license? We could have died, dude,” she says, shoving my head away.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Love. I know how to drive, obviously. But I’m not American, remember? Not human either. No point getting a license.”
Felicity spreads her hands and gestures widely, clearly miming that this is the exact reason why I should have a license, but I ignore her.
“Just scooch over me, okay?” She rolls her eyes. I pull out my trump card: “Do you want us to get stuck in a police station and possibly miss your conference…thing?” I grimace.
“Ugh, fine.” She pokes a sharp finger at me. “But you owe me.”
Felicity unbuckles her seat belt and, still stooped, climbs over my lap.
Her warm, soft body presses to mine momentarily and—gods damn it—I hold my breath against the swoop of my stomach as I remember those sounds she was making just minutes ago, the trajectory of her hand between her legs.
Was she dreaming of me, I wonder? That thought, I admit, is narcissistic.
In a perfect world, Felicity wouldn’t notice the growing bulge behind the fly of my pants. But in the real world, her hand slips as she shuffles across the bench seat and lands right there. A sharp intake of breath, and she pulls her hand away as if burned.
“Sorry!” she whispers.
“Just move it along, Love,” I reply, trying not to notice that she smells like strawberries and vanilla ice cream.
I’m certainly not taking mental inventory of the constellation of freckles across her nose.
After what feels like an excruciatingly long time, Felicity pops up and positions herself behind the steering wheel.
I exhale and straighten in the passenger seat, buckle the seat belt, and try for all the world to play it cool. Just in time, too. When I look in the mirror, I see an officer walking towards us.
“Everything okay over here?” the man asks, eyeing us both suspiciously. “This isn’t the best parking place,” he adds wryly, and I give a weak laugh. Felicity cuts me a look, and I shut up immediately.
Then, as if sweet-talking cops comes second nature to her, Felicity lifts her chest, swishes her hair, and beams at the man looking down at us.
He’s lucky to be wearing sunglasses. Otherwise, I suspect looking at her would be like looking directly into the sun at midday.
Or maybe this cop is impervious to her charm—unlike me, who’s completely enamored.
“We’re just fine, Officer—” Felicity tilts her head and bites her lower lip, making obvious work of scanning the man’s chest and torso. “Pretty,” she concludes, tucking her hair behind her ears.
“It’s Purdy,” he says with a grin and a tap to his name tag. I could throttle him, I think. Instead, I focus on not rolling my eyes or making any sudden movements whatsoever.
Felicity responds with a tinkling giggle. “Oh, my mistake,” she says, tossing her head back and baring her neck. “Looks to me like it’s both,” she purrs.
This time, I do roll my eyes. Okay, Love—it’s a bit heavy-handed now.
But Officer Purdy actually blushes at Felicity’s display, and on the one hand, I’m embarrassed for him that he’s so easily manipulated. On the other hand, I get it. And I hate him for it.
“Well…” Officer Purdy says, clearly flustered. “Just wanted to make sure you and your friend,” I notice an emphasis on friend, “were all right. Looks like you’ve got it all handled…” He trails off, giving Felicity the opportunity to cut in.
“Oh, that was so kind of you! My friend here panicked when he thought he saw something in the road. Screamed so loud I almost jumped out of my skin.” She makes a fist, pointing at me with her thumb.
“You know how passenger princesses can be.” She tilts her chin in my direction and raises a knowing eyebrow at the officer.
Officer Purdy hmms in acknowledgment of this slapstick account of events. Once again, I could shake him for being so taken in by Felicity. Why are men such spineless schmucks in the hands of a beautiful woman? And why am I no better?
“Well,” he says, reaching into a pocket and pulling out a piece of paper.
He clicks a pen and writes on it. “Here’s my info in case you do get into any trouble out here.
” He hands Felicity the business card, taps the number he just wrote down, and adds: “My personal cell in case you need anything else.”
Felicity bats her eyelashes and giggles again before slipping the card through the neck of her shirt, tucking it under her bra strap.
Shameless. I’m thoroughly impressed.
“You’ve been so kind, Officer. I’ll definitely be in touch.”
He smiles broadly. I fantasize about punching him in his pearly white teeth. Then he walks away, slaps the hood of the trunk twice, gets into his vehicle, and drives off. We sit in silence for a minute or two.
“What the hell was that?”
“What?” she asks innocently.
“That whole…display,” I say, flipping my hand in the direction of Officer Purdy’s cruiser as it picks up speed.
“That,” she says primly, “was me saving your ass. You’re welcome.”
“You practically shoved his face in your tits,” I say. Jealousy is not an emotion I’m used to, and I can’t say I enjoy it. It’s not bringing out the best in me.
Felicity looks at me with fire in her eyes. “Who cares if I did?” she asks, a challenge in her voice. “I could have gotten down on my knees and sucked him off right beside this stupid car, and it wouldn’t have been any of your business,” she continues, “because it’s my decision.”
And now, stupidly, I’m picturing exactly what she just described, and I can’t dwell on it because if I do, I’ll get turned on all over again. I shift in the seat, shoving my hands under my elbows as I stare ahead.
“Whatever,” I reply. “And it’s not a stupid car,” I mumble under my breath.
Ignoring me, Felicity turns the key in the ignition, puts the car in gear, and steers us back onto the road.
“I’m driving the rest of the way,” she says with finality.
I don’t argue.