Without moving any closer to the vehicle I strongly suspected belonged to someone I was in no mood to interact with, I turned my body and zeroed in on the driver’s outline as I still held the stupid and wet piece of garment above me.
God-freaking-dammit.
Aaron was sitting inside. His body was leaning toward the copilot’s door, and while I could see his lips moving, I couldn’t make out what he was saying with the noise of the traffic, the wind, and the rain hitting the pavement with the characteristic force of a storm.
“What?” I shouted in his direction, not moving an inch.
Aaron waved his hand, probably indicating that I come closer. I stood there, squinting my eyes at him, wet as a drowned rat. He aggressively waved his pointer at me.
Oh, hell no.
I watched his scowl take over his expression as he mouthed a couple of words that looked a lot like impossible and stubborn.
“I can’t hear you!” I howled over the rain, still rooted to the spot.
His lips moved around what I assumed was something like for fuck’s sake. Unless he was telling me how much he wanted a milkshake. Which, judging by his scowl, I would not put any money on.
Rolling my eyes, I stepped closer. Very slowly. Almost ridiculously so, just so I wouldn’t slip and slide across the sidewalk again. Not in front of him of all people in New York City.
“Get in the car, Catalina.” I heard Aaron’s exasperation clinging to his voice, even over the furious and relentless rain.
Just like I had suspected, he hadn’t wanted a milkshake.
“Catalina,” he said as that blue gaze fell back on me, “get in.”
“It’s Lina.” After close to two years of him exclusively using my full name, I knew correcting him was of no use. But I was frustrated. Irritated. Tired. Soaked too. And I hated my full name. Papá—being the history nerd he was—had named both his daughters after two distinguished Spanish monarchs, Isabel and Catalina. My name being the one that never came back in trend in my country. “And what for?”
His lips parted in disbelief.
“What for?” he repeated my words. Then, he shook his head as he exhaled through his nose. “For an improvised trip to Disneyland. What would it be otherwise?”
For a long moment, I looked inside Aaron Blackford’s car with what I knew was an expression of genuine confusion.
“Catalina”—I watched his face go from exasperation to something that bordered resignation—“I am driving you home”—he stretched his arm and opened the door closest to me, as if it were a done deal—“before you catch pneumonia or almost break your neck. Again.”
Again.
That last part he had added very slowly.
Blood rushed to my cheeks. “Oh, thank you,” I gritted through my teeth. I tried to push down how embarrassed I was and plastered a fake smile on my face. “But there’s no need.” I stood in front of the open door, my wet hair sticking to my face again. I finally dropped the stupid cardigan and started squeezing water off it. “I can manage myself. This is just rain. If I’ve survived this long without breaking my neck, I think I can get home on my own today too. Plus, I’m not in a rush.”
Also, I have been avoiding you since you walked out of my office earlier today.
As I uselessly twisted some more water off my cardigan, I watched his eyebrows knit, regaining his earlier expression as he processed my words.
“What about the cat?”
“What cat?”
His head tilted. “Mr. Cat.”
The water must have been seeping through my skull because it took me an extra second to pin down what he was talking about.
“Your neighbor’s furless cat that you are not allergic to,” he said slowly as my eyes widened. “Ryan’s.”
I averted my eyes. “Bryan. My neighbor’s name is Bryan.”
“Not important.”
Ignoring that last remark, I couldn’t help but notice a line of cars forming behind Aaron’s.
“Get in the car. Come on.”
“No need, really.” One more car piled up. “Mr. Cat will survive a little longer without me.”
Aaron’s mouth opened, but before he could say anything, the blaring sound of a horn startled me, making me give a little jump and almost collide against the car’s open door.
“Por el amor de Dios!” I squealed.
Turning my head with my heart in my throat, I discovered it was one of New York City’s infamous yellow taxis. After a few years of living and working in the city, I had learned my lesson when it came to angry drivers. Or pissed New Yorkers in general. They’d let you know how they felt exactly when they felt it.
Proving my point, a trail of ugly-sounding words was thrown in our direction.
I turned back just in time to watch Aaron curse under his breath. He looked just as furious as the taxi driver.
Another nerve-racking honking noise—this time much, much, much longer—blared in my ears, making me jump again.
“Catalina, now.” Aaron’s tone was severe.
I blinked at him for a second too long, a little dazed by everything going on around me.
“Please.”
And before I could even process that word that had slipped out of him, a yellow blur was driving past us, gifting us with a ragey, “Assholes!” and blaring his horn with something close to devotion.
Those two words—Aaron’s please and that assholes—propelled my legs into the safety of Aaron’s car. With impressive speed, I found myself letting my body fall onto the leather seat with a wet thud and smacking the door shut.
Silence instantly engulfed us, the only sounds the muffled rattle of the rain against the shell of Aaron’s car and the dull roar of the engine moving us forward and into the chaos that was New York’s traffic.
“Thank you,” I croaked, feeling extremely uncomfortable as I fastened my belt.
Aaron kept his eyes on the road. “Thank you,” he answered, delivering that you with sarcasm, “for not making me get out and carry you inside myself.”
The visual of what he had just said caught me completely off guard. My eyes widened before then quickly narrowing at him. “And how in the world did you think that would be a good idea?”
“I was wondering myself, believe me.”
That answer did not make any sense. And for some reason, it made my cheeks heat up. Again.
Turning my head away from him and focusing on the almost-lawless array of moving cars ahead of us, I shifted awkwardly in my seat. Then, I stopped abruptly, noticing my soaked clothes made weird squishy noises against the leather.
“So …” I started as I slid to the edge, stretching the seat belt along with me. More noises followed. “This is a very nice car.” I cleared my throat. “Is it an air freshener that makes it smell all new and leathery?” I knew it wasn’t; the interior was in pristine condition.
“No.”
Moving my ass further up to the very end with yet another squishy sound, I cleared my throat. Straightening my back, I opened my mouth, but nothing came out, not when my mind was stuck on the fact that my soaked clothes were probably ruining the most likely expensive fabric underneath them.
This was a bad idea. I should never have climbed in his car. I should have walked.
“Catalina,” I heard Aaron from my left side, “have you ever been inside a moving vehicle before?”
My eyebrows wrinkled. “What? Of course. Why do you ask?” I queried from my position at the edge of the copilot’s seat. My knees were touching the dashboard.
He slid me a glance, his eyes assessing my stance.
Oh.
“Well, just so you know,” I added quickly, “this is how I always sit. I love watching everything from up close.” I pretended to be engrossed by the traffic. “I looooove rush-hour. It’s so—”
We came to a sudden halt, and my head and whole body were pushed forward. So much that my eyes closed on instinct. I could already taste the flavor of the PVC that covered the refined lines of the dashboard. The elegant details in the wood too.
Although it never did. Something stopped me midway.
“Jesus,” I heard being muttered.
One eye opened, taking in the delivery truck crossed in front of us. Then, my other eye popped open, too, and my gaze slid down, finding the explanation as to why my face wasn’t tattooed on the polished surface of Aaron’s dashboard.
A hand. A big one, all five fingers splayed across my collarbone and … well, chest.
Before I could blink, I was being pushed back, an array of squeaks accompanying the motion. Right until my whole back was flush against the seat rest.
“Stay right there,” came the order from my left as his fingers heated my skin across my drenched blouse. “If you are worried about the seat, it’s just water. It will dry off.” Aaron’s words weren’t reassuring. They couldn’t be when he sounded just as angry as a few minutes ago. If not a little more.
He retrieved his hand, the movement brisk and stiff.
I swallowed, grabbing on to the seat belt that now rested where his palm had been. “I don’t want to ruin it.”
“You won’t.”
“Okay,” I said, stealing a quick glance at him.
His gaze was on the road, shooting daggers at whoever had been responsible for that little mishap.
“Thanks.”
Then, we were moving again. The car was filled with silence while Aaron’s attention remained on his task and mine took the chance to scatter.
I surprised myself, thinking of Rosie’s words.
“I don’t think Aaron is all that bad,” she had said earlier today.
But why had that thought waited to seep in until right now? To sound so loud and clear in my head? It wasn’t like Mr. Sunshine here was being any nicer than he usually was.