Page 10
Story: Her Protector on Route 14
“So...” I say, searching for a lighter thread, “what was your first vehicle?”
Tanner glances over, arches a brow, but answers. Every question I toss his way, he meets it head-on. And when I ask if I’m prying too much, he just rolls his eyes and turns the questions back on me.
It’s surprisingly easy—natural, even.
Until he asks, “And what would your boyfriend think of this trip?”
The question drops like a stone in my chest, and suddenly the open windows don’t feel like enough air.
I brake too hard—ten feet before the stop sign—and we both jolt forward. It’s a clumsy, too-sudden reaction, and I immediately regret it. The kind of move someone makes when they feel guilty. Which I’m not.
I open my mouth to saysomething, anything to cover the awkwardness, but Tanner’s already leaning over, pressing a steady hand to my shoulder.
“Holly, are you okay?” His voice is sharp, concerned, not angry.
My heart’s pounding for all the wrong reasons, and the fact that his hand is so close to my collarbone isn’t helping. I can barely meet his eyes.
“I’m fine,” I whisper. “I just—That question caught me off guard.”
His gaze doesn’t let up. “Answer it.”
I stare at him. “I don’t have a boyfriend,” I say firmly. “I wouldn’t have kissed you if I did.”
His expression softens, just a little. “Ikissed you.”
“Well... I didn’t stop you.” I huff a breath and glance away, trying not to sound like a flustered teenager. “And you’re the one checking me like I broke something.”
He gently brushes my collar aside, eyes narrowing at the faint red mark across my shoulder. “You’ve got a mark. Seatbelt maybe?”
“It’s nothing,” I say quickly. “Won’t even bruise. I’m okay. Really.”
“Do you want me to drive?” he asks, still watching me too closely.
“No,” I say, putting my hands back on the wheel. “I’ve got it.”
The silence settles thick again until I can’t take it. I grab a Skittle from the center console and toss it at him. It bounces off his chest.
He catches the next one midair without flinching.
“I haven’t had a boyfriend in a while,” I mutter. “Not great at dating. I’ve been told I’m too much. Or too... prude.”
“A prude?” he repeats, glancing at me like he misheard.
My face floods with heat. “Forget I said anything. Just—hand me the Skittles.”
He sets the big bag of Skittles over the cupholders. I grab a handful, munching in silence for a few beats—then toss one at him.
He stares at me for a long moment, completely unamused. I just shrug. “What? Don’t tell me you’ve never been on a real road trip. You know, thefunkind.”
I turn my attention back to the road—until a Skittle lands right in my lap.
When I glance over, he’s looking out the window like he had nothing to do with it, jaw tight, expression neutral. Not fooling anyone.
I keep teasing him, tossing another his way. Eventually, he gives in and starts returning fire. It turns into a back-and-forth game that fills the cab with low laughter and color and something lighter than anything we’ve felt since this all started.
Then a song comes on the radio. Smooth, sultry, a little suggestive.
I grin and sing along without thinking, swaying slightly in my seat to the rhythm, letting the fun of the moment carry me.
Tanner glances over, arches a brow, but answers. Every question I toss his way, he meets it head-on. And when I ask if I’m prying too much, he just rolls his eyes and turns the questions back on me.
It’s surprisingly easy—natural, even.
Until he asks, “And what would your boyfriend think of this trip?”
The question drops like a stone in my chest, and suddenly the open windows don’t feel like enough air.
I brake too hard—ten feet before the stop sign—and we both jolt forward. It’s a clumsy, too-sudden reaction, and I immediately regret it. The kind of move someone makes when they feel guilty. Which I’m not.
I open my mouth to saysomething, anything to cover the awkwardness, but Tanner’s already leaning over, pressing a steady hand to my shoulder.
“Holly, are you okay?” His voice is sharp, concerned, not angry.
My heart’s pounding for all the wrong reasons, and the fact that his hand is so close to my collarbone isn’t helping. I can barely meet his eyes.
“I’m fine,” I whisper. “I just—That question caught me off guard.”
His gaze doesn’t let up. “Answer it.”
I stare at him. “I don’t have a boyfriend,” I say firmly. “I wouldn’t have kissed you if I did.”
His expression softens, just a little. “Ikissed you.”
“Well... I didn’t stop you.” I huff a breath and glance away, trying not to sound like a flustered teenager. “And you’re the one checking me like I broke something.”
He gently brushes my collar aside, eyes narrowing at the faint red mark across my shoulder. “You’ve got a mark. Seatbelt maybe?”
“It’s nothing,” I say quickly. “Won’t even bruise. I’m okay. Really.”
“Do you want me to drive?” he asks, still watching me too closely.
“No,” I say, putting my hands back on the wheel. “I’ve got it.”
The silence settles thick again until I can’t take it. I grab a Skittle from the center console and toss it at him. It bounces off his chest.
He catches the next one midair without flinching.
“I haven’t had a boyfriend in a while,” I mutter. “Not great at dating. I’ve been told I’m too much. Or too... prude.”
“A prude?” he repeats, glancing at me like he misheard.
My face floods with heat. “Forget I said anything. Just—hand me the Skittles.”
He sets the big bag of Skittles over the cupholders. I grab a handful, munching in silence for a few beats—then toss one at him.
He stares at me for a long moment, completely unamused. I just shrug. “What? Don’t tell me you’ve never been on a real road trip. You know, thefunkind.”
I turn my attention back to the road—until a Skittle lands right in my lap.
When I glance over, he’s looking out the window like he had nothing to do with it, jaw tight, expression neutral. Not fooling anyone.
I keep teasing him, tossing another his way. Eventually, he gives in and starts returning fire. It turns into a back-and-forth game that fills the cab with low laughter and color and something lighter than anything we’ve felt since this all started.
Then a song comes on the radio. Smooth, sultry, a little suggestive.
I grin and sing along without thinking, swaying slightly in my seat to the rhythm, letting the fun of the moment carry me.