Suzy
Carlson hasn’t said one word to me since we’ve been in the car. I shouldn’t be surprised - and I’m not - but I am disappointed.
I’m in the backseat of a mammoth luxury SUV with Gemma, her snoozing head lightly lolling against the side of my shoulder with the gentle motions of the drive. No matter how much I insisted, Carlson was just as adamant about taking me back to my car left at HC. Knowing we were going to imbibe, we utilized a rideshare service. Having only half of what Gemma heartily enjoyed, I’m not even closed to being as intoxicated as my friend. At the moment, I wish I am.
The tension is so dense, it hurts to breathe.
As soon as we deposited Gemma in the car, Carlson was on the phone with Mr. Hawkes, giving him an update in his dark, no-nonsense voice, letting his boss know we were on our way. I couldn’t make out what Mr. Hawkes said, but it became evident when, instead of heading to HC and to my car, Carlson turned in the other direction towards Mr. Hawkes’s residence.
It’s been painfully silent for the last fifteen minutes.
Is he upset that he had to extract us from a half strip club? He was visibly agitated when I first realized he was there, his normally somber features tight with anger. Maybe he was uncomfortable there. Not many straight men would be able to shrug it off nonchalantly, but his reaction was more than that. It was as if he was… jealous.
Is he secretly pining for Gemma?
I glance over at the slumped form next to me. Gemma is stunning. Smart. Strong. Why wouldn’t Carlson want her? She might belong to his boss, but there’s no law against coveting someone you can’t have.
I’m all too familiar with that.
Disheartened at the thought, I peek out the window and realize we’re only a few blocks away. On a quiet sigh, I begin to straighten.
And have my gaze collide with Carlson’s on the rearview mirror.
Even in the shifting shadows of the car, his clear blue eyes are keen. Piercing and glowing. Somewhere in the murky mess of my mind, I realize we’re sitting at a stoplight. Bold and all consuming, he doesn’t shift his gaze, a red-hot brand blistering every inch of me.
I don’t look away. I can’t. I’m rooted to this second, the seed long planted. Rapt heat fuses my skin from the inside out, fogs the car and chokes my breaths.
Still. Seizing. Solemn features lock on me. I’m riveted, stolen away never to be the same again.
Until his sober face morphs into a scowl directed right at me.
My chest tightens. I’m not afraid of this giant who didn’t hesitate to bust through a strip club to retrieve the CEO’s fiancée. I’ve never been afraid of Carlson. This tense grip within me isn’t fear.
It’s something else. Something I refuse to label.
“Do you think I care what you think of me, Carlson?” The words are a mere undertone, an afterthought, even if they have jagged edges scraping my throat raw. “Even one bit?”
“What makes you think I think of you?” It wasn’t a question but a blunt challenge.
“I think you want me to think you don’t.” I don’t look away. Absolutely not. “You don’t like me hanging out with Gemma. Is that it? Mr. Hawkes’s princess. And me. A nobody.”
He grunts.
What does that mean?
He’s the first to look away, returning his expressionless eyes to the road as he deftly eases onto the silent, dusky street of his employer’s estate. The road is wide and immaculate. Each of the massive property spans an acre deep. In a humming, costly city, that’s a scarcity not to be sneezed at.
Carlson is a practical, careful driver, judiciously observing all traffic rules and speed limit signs. Even in the magnificent cobblestoned driveway, his motions are precise as he switches the vehicle to park.
“Stay here,” he says to me before elbowing open the door and rolling out.
Mr. Hawkes’s agitated voice precedes his approach, backlit by the gentle landscape sconces. His expression is pinched with worry for his fiancée, but Carlson is reassuring him in the all-business way he has with people. Then the rear passenger door is thrown open and Mr. Hawkes is half in the car.
“Gemmy.” He brushes back a mess of her hair. “Come on,” he whispers and hooks his arms around her. “Let’s get you to bed.”
“Hi, baby.” A dreamy smile tugs at Gemma’s sleepy face before she promptly gonks out again.
I watch him tuck her warmly against his chest before scooting out, envy a dreaded parasite gnawing at my veins.
What’s that like, I wonder. I can’t imagine Carlson loving and attentive with anyone, much less with me, yet I can’t help but wish…
“Goodnight, Suzy,” Mr. Hawkes says with a remiss glance over his shoulder. “Carlson will take you back.”
“Goodnight, Mr. Hawkes.”
A quick exchange with his driver, then Mr. Hawkes is towing his future bride into the house.
“I’m taking you home,” Carlson announces matter-of-factly as soon as he’s behind the wheel again.
“Actually, I’d appreciate a ride back to HC. That’s where I left my car.”
He doesn’t respond right away but takes his time adjusting the rearview mirror unnecessarily, then proceeds to tap at the menu selection on the dashboard screen. The man drove this very car not ten minutes ago. There’s no reason to start fiddling with things.
Unless it’s to irritate me.
“Carlson.” I like saying his name, even if he doesn’t reply half of the time. “I can call for a ride. You don’t have to take me back.”
“I’m taking you home.” He shifts the car into gear.
“Wait.”
The car hasn’t so much as began rolling and it’s stopped dead. Quickly, I unsnap my seatbelt, Carlson’s deep, questioning eyes burning into my flesh on the rearview mirror, and scurry out of the car.
He’s always been polite, a gentleman, and I’m guessing that’s probably why he’s not comfortable with the idea of me finding my way home on my own. The least I can do is sit in the front with him. His Mr. Hawkes’s driver, not mine.
I’m just Suzy to his Carlson.
As is his way, he doesn’t have any comments as I climb in next to him. His gaze is patient but expectant, waiting on something.
“What?” I ask, scooping my hair back behind an ear. Alone with him, subtly breathing in his heat, the nerves are back with a vengeance.
Slowly, his oversized frame leans in, long, muscular arm reaching over. A whiff of cedar aftershave and enticing body warmth washes over me. For a second all I can do is bask in it. It’s not every day the only man I want is this close to me.
Male fingers briefly brush over my shoulder. For a second all I see are delicate vines climbing up his skin, the color vibrant on the side of his corded neck. I want to trace a finger along the clean lines, absorb the masculine texture.
A decisive click snaps me out of my captured perusal.
Carlson gives me his trademark stern face. “Safety first.”
“Thanks,” I mutter. It occurs to me that he just strapped me in like I was a five-year-old. “I was going to do that.”
A grunt.
I think I need to download Grunt Translate.
Without another word he shifts the car into gear, gingerly easing out of the driveway and back onto the lethargic street.
“You don’t like me.” I don’t know what made me say that. I’m not asking him. Maybe because I don’t really want to know. “So, thank-you for going out of your way for me.”
“I like you just fine. And you don’t need to thank me.”
I laugh, a little sad, a whole lot nervous, and order myself to take in his impassive profile. “You’re a terrible liar.”
“I am,” he agrees easily, his gaze steady on the road. “That’s how you know I’m not lying.”
Do I? “You hardly say anything to me.”
To prove my point, he doesn’t say anything to me.
For some reason that makes me angry. These wild emotions churning in me. Infatuation. Disappointment. Longing. I don’t know what to do with them. “I like you just fine, too.” The sarcasm is intentional. I want a reaction, any reaction, and I’m not above goading one out of him. “Now we can be best friends.”
If he’s provoked by my tone or even offended, he doesn’t show it. “I don’t want to be best friends.”
“No?” I bite out. “You want to be fuck buddies, then?”
The SUV clumsily jerks to a stop at a red light. He fires a fierce scowl my way. So what else is new?
“Why are you saying stupid shit? You’re smarter than that. It’s beneath you.”
I meet his glare with one of my own. “You have no idea what’s beneath me. You never give it the time of day to find out.”
He turns away in barely suppressed annoyance. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says to the windshield. “You’re a nice girl.”
But I’m just not into you.
I can hear the words ringing in my ears like he actually said them. And I can’t. I just can’t. “Don’t say it. Don’t finish that thought.” My heart is pounding out of my chest and not in a good way. My gaze falls on the passenger window. “I wasn’t serious about the fuck buddy thing.” He has Melissa for that now. “Can we pretend just this once that we’re actually… friends?”
An uneasy, audible inhale. Then, “I don’t know how to be friends with you.”
When I peer back, it’s to find a healthy tint creeping up his tatted neck.
I stare at it in fascination. “I don’t understand. Weren’t you being a friend at the holiday party?” My gaze falls away. “Or were you just following orders?”
He doesn’t respond right away. Or maybe that is a response, not being able to come up with a gentle, sensitive way to let me down.
The car stays silent. Palpable and excruciating.
“I want to show you something. It’s a bit of a drive but well worth it.” His clear voice is informal, calm, as if our stiff conversation didn’t happen, but reserved. “Are you in a hurry to be home?”
I glance at the glowing digits on the dashboard. It’s nearly ten-thirty, and I have to be up at six tomorrow morning. With a full-time job and part-time classes, I’m used to being on a strict schedule. Even during breaks, I try not to deviate too much from it.
I should really be home, getting ready for bed. A peek in his direction reveals nothing from Carlson. He’s studiously looking straight ahead, almost as if he’s deliberately avoiding looking at me.
That decides it for me.
“I’ve got time.”