21. Just Feeling It
21
Just Feeling It
Diana
I’m sure I set the record for the fastest time ever. The speed at which I got ready for the day could rival Hermes—and that messenger god isn’t known for being slow. I, however, take an obscene amount of time to just style my hair.
Now I stand outside in the clearing between our houses, waiting for Carson. Purse in hand, sunglasses perched on the bridge of my smaller-than-average nose, light cream-colored sweater, and jeans that hang slightly low on my hips. It’s still chilly outside but with the sun shining bright on us, you wouldn’t notice.
After another minute passes, Carson’s front door opens and he steps out. Once again, the son of a bitch looks handsome without even trying. Coiffed brown hair and a washed-out jean jacket layered atop a white hoodie with the words, “Bored of South-Sea.” Jesus, I know he’s not a skater but he can pull that look off so effortlessly. Especially with that smile.
If my insides weren’t already swarming with every butterfly imaginable, they would be now.
Carson holds up a set of keys and shakes them. “You ready?”
My eyes widen. “We’re driving?”
“We can’t get there walking,” he explains. “Highways exist.”
Looks like I’m already a dead girl walking.
“This better be worth it,” I mutter as I follow him out to where Jake’s car is parked. I take over the passenger’s side while Carson makes himself comfortable behind the wheel before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a bottle of—
“Dramamine?” I blurt out. “Why did you bring Dramamine?” I don’t feel any motion sickness when I’m in a moving vehicle. Just panic.
He opens the bottle and swallows one pill before starting the engine. “It’s mainly for me but you can have some if you need it.”
“You get car sick?”
“Sadly.” He moves the gearshift and the car starts moving backward, startling me. On instinct, I grab onto the handlebar with my right hand, not caring that I might regret it eventually.
“You’re not the only one who has a weakness with motor vehicles,” he tells me. “It’s not as bad when I’m behind the wheel but last time Jake drove with me in the car…” He visibly winces. “Let’s just say it wasn’t pretty. I’ve been the designated driver ever since.”
“And he’s okay with that?”
He shrugs. “If it means he gets control of the aux, then I don’t think he cares.” We finally stop at a red light before he turns to face me. “Speaking of, did you want to play any songs?”
“I’m not picky,” I answer. “You decide.”
Carson shakes his head. “Nah, it’s the rule. The passenger picks the music.”
“I should not be in charge of the music.” Because I never know what to pick. I don’t freeze up on the spot but when it comes to music, my brain draws so many blanks that it would take a truck filled with cement to close them. “Please, Carson. Just pick something. I’m truly okay with whatever you choose.”
He tilts his head for a second before reaching for his phone and tapping on it. Probably to pick a song or playlist. It has me thinking: what genre of music does Carson listen to? Alt-rock? Hip-hop? Hell, I wouldn’t even be surprised if Taylor Swift starts playing.
But when I hear “Someone New” by Hozier spill through the car speakers, I’m utterly taken by surprise. God, I never thought that a guy could get hotter because of his taste in music but a guy who listens to Hozier? That alone may or may not have turned me on.
Just slightly.
Carson pulls into a parking lot and turns off the engine. Huh? Why did he stop? “Are we already there?” I ask him.
“No, we’re only halfway,” he tells me, unbuckling his seatbelt and opening the car door. “You’re going to take us the rest of the way.”
My jaw drops at his announcement. “I…but…what??”
“That’s my plan.” He closes his door and quickly rounds the car to open my door. “You said you never got a hands-on lesson, so I’m going to give you one.”
Forget the dropping jaw—I’m frozen in my seat. “But, what about your motion sickness? I could be so bad that we’d have to pull over and—”
“Why do you think I brought the Dramamine?” He offers his hand and I slowly take it, feeling the warmth of his grasp. “Besides, you won’t be the worst driver with me teaching you.
“But—”
“You never know unless you try.”
I take a deep breath and round the car over to the dreaded driver’s side. Never in my life have I been so complacent until this very moment. With each step I take, I’m closer to my biggest fear—okay, second-biggest fear.
“Diana.” Carson’s voice breaks through my panic but I can’t face him. My limbs are stuck. I’m not moving a muscle. Why are you doing this, Carson?
“We’re gonna die!” I say.
“No, we won’t,” he assures me in a calm tone. How the fuck is he not freaking out? “I will instruct you on what to do. The engine’s also off. Turn it on first and then you can start panicking.”
“This is not the time for sarcasm, Carson!”
“Diana, listen. I know you’re terrified. But here’s the situation: you’re the one in control, here. You’re the one who decides how fast the car moves, which way to turn, and how fast to break. I’ll give you directions on where to go but the road ahead is yours. You can’t let that fear control your life anymore.” I feel his hand touch my bare knee—my jeans are ripped—and I feel my chest moving. Okay, at least I’m breathing.
My head finally turns to him and his blue eyes meet mine, not starting away for a nanosecond.
“Grab life by the steering wheel and get moving.” A determined smile caresses his face. He trusts me to get us to whatever location he had in mind.
All I need is to trust myself. So I press the red button, start the engine, and slowly ease my foot onto the gas pedal. Carson instructs me on which direction to turn so I don’t hit anything because if Jake found out, he’d murder us—Carson’s words, not mine.
I leave the parking lot and it’s mostly smooth driving from here. Which means we’re stuck in traffic the closer we get to Marbella Beach, a beach town just off the Pacific Coast Highway. Especially because we’re taking the long route that avoids the freeway entrances.
Each minute that passes, I can’t help but think of how considerate this is. If I’m being honest, I would have chickened out at the last minute so the surprise—although terrifying—is definitely appreciated.
While we’re stuck at another red light, the music stops. I guess Carson forgot to queue another one. Might as well rip the band-aid off and say something. “About the whole ‘selfish’ thing last week—”
He cuts me off. “If you’re about to apologize, Diana, then don’t.”
“But it was a little rude of me.”
“You weren’t wrong,” he says. “It just took someone else aside of me to confirm it.” He leans back on the seat, practically sinking into it.
I should probably mention that throughout this whole ordeal, his hand never leaves my knee. He kept it there when we left the parking lot and now? That same left hand holds onto it tighter as if my bare knee is an anchor.
“If there’s something you should know about me, it’s that I would do anything to get people to like me. If they need a hand, I’d give them my whole arm. If your life was built on fear, then mine is built on destroying a person’s hatred towards me. Doing absolutely anything to help but never expect anything in return because that would make me ‘greedy.’” He adds air quotes. “I can rant about that all I want but we don’t have enough hours in the day for me to do so.”
The light turns green and I slowly press the gas pedal with my right foot, quickly glancing over to him. “In short, you’re a people pleaser?”
He nods. “I try to avoid conflict if it means things would be easier.”
“Must have made you popular,” I muse.
“It definitely made me tired.”
“Then why don’t you stop?” I ask, to which he scoffs.
“Oh, Just Diana . If only it were that easy.”
“But it is.” We approach another red light almost immediately. With that, I place all of my attention to him. “You can’t please everyone, Carson. There will always be disagreements around you. I know you try your best to settle those disputes but if you don’t take the time to figure out what you want—” I jab a finger at his chest with my free hand—“then you’ll end up being the one who suffers the most. At some point, you’ll have to do something for yourself . Not for others.”
Carson’s expression is unreadable. I can’t tell what he’s thinking. Could he be annoyed with what I just said? Is he still processing it? I don’t know.
But when he exhales, I realize that he might have needed to hear those words.
“I’m trying but it’s hard.”
My hand reaches his shoulder, rubbing it. “No one said it was easy.”
The light finally turns green and Carson points to the road. “Turn left here,” he instructs me.
After what feels like an eternity, he finally directs me to a parking space near the downtown area and a town called Marbella Beach. I turn on the engine and just like that, I feel a weight lift off my shoulders and Carson’s hand finally lifts from my knee.
“I just drove to Marbella Beach,” I mutter to myself. Holy shit, I did it! And made it in one piece.
“See?” He exits the car and just as I’m about to exit, Carson rounds the car and opens the door for me, holding out his hand. “I knew you could do it. We’re alive, I don’t feel too sick, and you faced your fear.”
Probably one of my biggest accomplishments yet. I grab his hand and close the door behind me. We make our way toward the beach, talking about the sights we saw during the drive over. How the giant spider on some random guy’s bald head terrified me.
We’re almost at the pier when someone’s beach ball splashes on the sand in front of us and I get sand inside my shoes. I remove my shoes and socks and just continue walking barefoot.
“Thanks again,” I tell Carson. “Today might just be a day to remember.”
“The day you saw that spider?” He gives me a wry smile, and I laugh. We drove by a bald guy with a spider on his head. It was a little scary.
“Oh definitely,” I agree, getting a laugh out of him. “You know what would be even better?”
He raises a brow, clearly curious at what I have to say. “What would?”
I raise my chin slightly. “A rematch for that race.”
The other brow flies up. “You sure you want to lose again?”
“What makes you think I’ll lose again?” I ask. Running in the sand is my forte. I mean, hello? Miami native here? That was basically my entire childhood. “I could easily whip your ass.”
“Then prove it,” he challenges, pointing to the stairs that lead up to the pier. “Last person who reaches the bottom of that staircase has to pay for lunch.”
“Bring it on.” I quickly slip my shoes back on and take off laughing without another care.
“I didn’t say start!” He calls out, jogging after me.
“We’ll call it even!” I shout back. Running in dry sand is not easy, I tell you. So it doesn’t take very long for Carson to catch up to me.
We’re neck in neck—or head and neck, since the guy is six feet tall, give or take an inch—and just as I pass a vendor, I trip on a small hill of sand and fall stomach-down onto it.
“Diana!”
I find myself laughing as I pull myself up to a sitting position because I can’t remember the last time I felt so… light. Without a care in the world. When was the last time I felt that way?
“I’m okay,” I assure him in between laughs. “It doesn’t hurt.”
He bends down to my level. “Your wrist isn’t hurting?”
Shaking my head, I reach for his knee and snake my hand around to the back of his ankle. “I am just fine.” With one motion and two hands, I reach for his foot and trip him. Carson falls on his back with a light thump—dry sand doesn’t hurt as much as wet sand, luckily.
“Warn a guy, don’t you,” he jokes.
I move so that I’m lying myself next to him, turning on my side so I face him. I couldn’t care if I got sand in my hair. “Where’s the fun in that?”
He turns onto his side so he faces me, and our faces are merely inches from each other. “You are something else when the whole world isn’t on your shoulders.”
And the butterflies are back. My face is already splitting in half with how big my smile is. “Is that a good thing?” I ask, my breathing getting heavier with each second.
Maybe I’m imaging this but Carson moves much closer. In fact, so close that our noses are almost touching. Is it really going to happen? Please let this be real because I will be pissed if a beach ball interrupts this.
If this isn’t happening, send me a sign.
A beat passes, and nothing happens. Well, nothing except for the swift movement where he closes the distance between us and I freeze. Wait, I wanted this to happen. Why am I not doing anything?
Before I can reciprocate, he pulls back. “I’m sorry. I didn’t read that correctly, did—”
I bring my hand to the back of his neck and pull his soft lips to mine, doing what I should have done when he made the first move. Gosh, I’ve been wanting to do that since the maze on my birthday.
Thankfully, he kisses me back, with much more confidence and I find myself melting into it. His arm wraps around my waist, pulling me right to his chest and I melt into his touch, wishing that he doesn’t let go.
I’m staying in the moment. Not letting another fear get in the way of this because I know one thing: he wanted this too.
So why should I try to talk myself out of it?