Page 17 of Beneath Your Beautiful

“No.”

“Have you ever been chased by a bear?” I asked.

“What the fuck?”

I smothered a laugh and climbed into the Jeep, stowing my backpack at my feet. We fastened our seatbelts, and Killian turned the key in the ignition. Music pumped through the speakers, a band and song I didn’t recognize. Grunge with cryptic lyrics. The song reminded me of Killian, although I couldn’t say why. “What is this?” I pointed to his sound system.

“Bush. ‘Greedy Fly.’”

We rolled down our windows, letting in the warm night air and the odor of asphalt and garbage—the smell of summer in Brooklyn. Killian was a fast driver. One hand on the steering wheel and the other on the gearshift, his face illuminated by the glow of the dash.

“You’ve been chased by a bear?” he asked, hanging a left on Berry Street.

“Yeah. It was my brother Sawyer’s favorite family holiday. He’s an adrenaline junkie and loved the rush. Luckily, he and I were good tree climbers.”

“Jesus Christ. Who are you?”

“Depends on who you ask. My brothers used to call me a trouble magnet. Only because I was Sawyer’s partner in crime. Bad move. It usually left me scrambling for my life.”

His chest rumbled with laughter. The sound filled the Jeep and echoed in the night air. It was the first time I’d heard him laugh, and it was the best sound ever.

“I never thanked you for the other day,” I said. “For taking care of my ankle and knee.”

He glanced at me briefly, then fixed his gaze on the road again. “It wasn’t a big deal.”

“It was a nice thing to do.”

He shrugged one shoulder, dismissing it, like it was hard to accept a compliment. Storefronts, bars, and cafes passed by in a blur, and at this hour, the streets were ours. A couple stumbled out of Fat Earl’s, a bar on the corner, and started making out against the brick wall.

“You can drop me off at the next corner. My street is a one-way—”

But he was already turning up North Fifth Street so he could take Driggs and drive down my block. When he turned down North Sixth, I directed him farther up the block. He stopped in front of my building and peered out the window at it. “Which floor are you on?”

“The penthouse. Third floor.”

“You left your windows open.”

“It gets hot and stuffy inside.”

“Close and lock your windows when you leave. It’s dangerous.”

“Do you think Spiderman is going to spin a web and scale the wall?”

He scowled at me. “Close your windows.”

“Okay.”

“Okay? No argument?”

“Disappointed?” I asked as I unfastened my seatbelt and grabbed my bag, which had way more cash in it than I’d expected to haul in on a Tuesday night.

“Suspicious.”

I laughed. “You showed me the error of my ways. Thanks for the ride.”

“I’ll drive you home when you work. Save you the taxi money.”

“Where do you live?” I didn’t want to get out of the car. I wanted to keep talking to him. Keep driving through the streets, listening to his music, and watching the city blur past our windows in a neon haze. “Is it on your way?”