“No, maybe you should answer my question if you’re hungry.”
Thinking about it and knowing the time, suddenly I was.
“Yeah. But if you make me steaks, I’ll explode.”
I heard his soft, deep chuckle. I also felt it. I’d never done either and I liked both immensely.
Then he told me, “Got a quota, baby, I cook once a week. You got that thrill. I’ll take you out for something.”
A date. In fact, that day had been the longest, weirdest, strangely most comprehensive date in history even though I’d showed at his place to tell him I never wanted to see him again. We’d shared. We’d touched. We’d had profound moments of intensity. He’d cooked for me. I’d napped in his house. And now we were going out to eat together for the first time.
As I thought this, I got another light squeeze and a simple order. “Jacket, Anya.”
I didn’t move but looked into his shadowed face. “Can I drive your car?”
“No,” he denied immediately.
“I’m a good driver.”
“Your ass is next to me, I drive. You wanna borrow it sometime, it’s yours.”
“Knight, I only had one experience but I think I’m actually a better driver than you.”
“This is doubtful, babe, seein’ as I drove drags, sprints and raced streets. My Dad was a f**kin’ race freak, lived it, breathed it, put me behind the wheel of a cart when I was eight and never looked back.”
This explained the “driving since I was twelve” comment though he’d semi-lied since I thought go-carts counted so he’d been driving since he was eight.
I didn’t quibble this fact. Instead I pointed out, “Those race people get in wrecks all the time.”
“When’s the last time you heard of a driver getting in one on a city street?”
He, unfortunately, had a point.
I decided not to tell him that and concede through silence.
He accepted then declared, “I drive. You ride. Not a rule, that’s a law. Get me?”
“What if you’ve had a freak accident and you’ve broken your arm and ankle?” I asked for specifics.
“If that shit happens, I hope to God you’re smart enough to pick up a phone and call an ambulance rather than draggin’ my ass to my car, which would be agony, shoving it in, which would be more agony, and taking me to the hospital.”
Another valid point.
Again I conceded through silence.
Knight’s body started shaking and his voice was too when he asked, “Are we done with this f**kin’ stupid conversation?”
“I guess,” I muttered, still wanting to drive his car.
I got another light squeeze and he dipped his smiling face in mine. “Whenever you want, baby, you can take my ride out. Just say the word. I’ll arrange it. I’m just not gonna be in it with you.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Because I’m a man,” he answered.
“So?”
“I’ll clarify,” he offered. “I’m a man who does not let my woman or any woman drive when my ass is in the car.”