Page 25 of Into These Eyes

Gavin

A fter giving Benny another lesson on how to make the most of his phone, I trudge back to my caravan to make some lunch. The moment I enter the stifling oven, my phone rings.

Jamie.

My heart thrums in my chest as I grin. As my thumb trembles over the answer button, I tell myself not to get my hopes up. These things take time. A lot of time. For all I know, she’s calling with bad news.

“Hey,” I answer.

“Hi. I … I’m here, in the parking lot. You said to call, so …”

“Right. Be there in a sec—”

“Wait,” she interrupts. I freeze, suddenly very afraid she’s here with news I don’t want to hear. “If, ah, you haven’t had lunch yet, I could use some. I think I passed a little place on my way here.”

“Sounds great.”

It’s not until I take the phone away from my ear that I realise I have a death-grip on the damn thing.

With my pulse thumping, I clean my teeth, shrug on a clean t-shirt and brush my hair.

When I glance in the tiny mirror, I’m convinced it looks like I’m trying too hard, so I run my hands through my hair to muss it up a little.

“Dick,” I tell my reflection. This isn’t a fucking date. She’s here with bad news. That’s why the lunch invitation. To soften the blow.

Steeling myself against the negative thoughts swirling around in my head, I shove my feet into my runners and hurry out to meet her.

By the time I get to her car, the strong possibility that she’s about to cut me loose forms a pit in my stomach.

The moment I slide into the passenger seat and close the door, that intoxicating scent hits me. She smells like … I want to say home , but that’s such a distant memory, I’m not sure if it even exists.

Fighting the urge to close my eyes and breathe deeply, I glance over and flash her a smile as I clip on the seatbelt. “Hey.”

“Hi,” she says, looking down at the centre console and turning a dial.

As I take in her long ponytail and pretty dress that ends halfway up her toned thighs, the car moves backwards. Which wouldn’t bother me if she was looking over her shoulder.

I clutch the seatbelt, convinced she’s about to hit something.

She stomps on the brakes and stares at me with genuine concern. “What? What is it?”

“You’re backing up without looking.” The second the words are out, I want to take them back.

Here she is taking me out to lunch and I’m criticising her driving.

Especially since I’ve become such an expert over the last sixteen years.

In fact, apart from the occasional Uber ride—something that didn’t exist when I went inside—this is the first time I’ve been in the front seat since my conviction.

Instead of kicking me out, she chuckles. “You think I’m some crazy, reckless female driver?”

“Unless you’ve got eyes in the back of your head, I don’t think it matters what sex you are.”

“Damn, you figured out my secret.”

Her eyes glint with amusement, releasing my tense muscles.

“Right,” I say. “I’ll need proof of that, I’m afraid.”

She giggles. It’s such a sweet, melodic sound, I lose myself for a moment.

Hearing her laugh like that, as if she doesn’t have a care in the world, does something fucking wonderful to my soul.

I want to make her laugh like that all the time.

Then she points at a screen mounted in the middle of the dash, angled slightly toward her.

I’m an idiot. And now she knows it. “A camera?”

“Yep. The eyes in the back of my head.”

“I’m definitely behind the times.”

“Not your fault,” she says as she reverses. This time I watch her concentrate on that screen. It feels strange. The urge to look over my shoulder is still ingrained after all this time, but I resist.

She grins as she turns that dial on the console again and we move forward.

Out on the road, fifty or so metres in front of us, a car decides to pull out instead of waiting a few seconds for us to pass first. At that precise moment, Jamie takes her attention off the road to stare at me.

When I glance into her footwell, I discover her foot isn’t even on any of the pedals, let alone the brake.

“Jamie!” I blurt, slamming my hands against the dash, sure we’re about to plough into the back of the other car.

“It’s fine,” she laughs, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

And then I feel it. Even though she’s done nothing to hit the brakes, her car slows down. Studying the vehicle in front, I realise we’re neither gaining nor dropping back, but keeping pace. When I let out a breath, my heart decides it’s safe to beat again.

Too soon, apparently, because now she’s taken both hands off the wheel to stretch. I snap my eyes back to the road, watching as we approach a bend.

I don’t like this feeling at all. No control and no escape from this travelling projectile. My life is literally in her hands and she’s not even using them.

Gripping the seatbelt, I wait for us to cross to the other side of the road. Instead, the steering wheel turns on its own, navigating the bend perfectly, never losing pace with the car in front.

Once we straighten, she put her hands back on the wheel and shoots me a smug glance, her eyes dancing with delight.

“What?” she asks, all innocent, like she hasn’t almost given me a bloody heart attack.

“Jesus, woman. What the hell?”

“Not scared of how I drive, are you?”

“How can I be when it appears you aren’t driving at all?”

She laughs, clearly having fun at my expense. As much as my heart’s jackhammering, it’s lovely to see her like this. I never thought I’d have the pleasure of witnessing this playful, carefree demeanour, let alone be the reason for it.

But it worries me, too. She suffered a huge blow only a few short days ago. I can’t see how this happiness is genuine. I think she’s using it to cover up the pain deep inside. And that never comes to any good. Though, God knows, I want more of her laughter and those smiles that reach her eyes.

“I hadn’t thought about you never travelling in a car like this. Not until you freaked out when I started reversing.”

“I didn’t freak out,” I lie.

“Ha! Sure you didn’t. Naturally, I had to give you a demonstration.”

“You could’ve warned me first.”

She shrugs. “I’m not sure that would have been quite as much fun. But, fair enough. Wait until you see what’s next,” she says with a little too much glee.

I groan. “Please, no more.”

When she glances at me, I can’t help but catch her contagious smile. Shifting in my seat, I become aware of something I hadn’t noticed before. Probably because I was more concerned with making it out of this car alive. “Why does it feel like my arse is getting colder?”

“Fear?” she chuckles.

“Very funny.”

“It’s probably the ventilated seats.”

I stare at her, waiting for the punchline. It doesn’t come.

“They must have had cars with heated seats before …”

“Yeah, I remember,” I say before she gets too uncomfortable. I don’t want to lose this playful side of her.

“So, same difference.”

“Does it clean up after you scare the crap out of your passenger too?”

“Not yet.”

After a moment, Jamie slows the car and, with practiced precision, she presses a few buttons on the dash display before coming to a full stop. Checking the rearview mirror, she looks at me.

“Ready?” she asks, mischief sparking in her eyes.

I shake my head. “Nope.”

“Too bad.” And with that, she takes her hands off the wheel and her foot off the brake.

To my astonishment, the care reverses perfectly into a rear-to-kerb parking spot.

“Unbelievable,” I murmur. “Does anyone even need a licence anymore?”

“In a hundred years, I bet people will think it was crazy to allow us fallible humans control over such a lethal missile.”

I shake my head. “Don’t you remember the joy of actually driving? I used to lie in my cell and relive my short driving experience.”

The spark in her eyes dies a little. “You haven’t driven since you were released?”

“Can’t afford a car.”

Her hand covers the fist resting on my thigh. And just like every time she’s touched me, my body comes alive. I want nothing more than to uncurl my fist and entwine our fingers. As I start to do just that, her hand disappears.

“I’m starving. Let’s go,” she says as she climbs out.

After deciding on a couple of burgers, we head across the road to the river while we wait. Walking along the grassy path, I barely glance at the tannin-stained water flowing past.

I suppose the river’s beautiful in its own way, but all I see is Jamie.

Her long ponytail bounces against her back, her flowing dress brushing against those smooth thighs, her toned calves flexing with every step.

I’d like to run my fingers over every inch of those legs.

Then there’s that damn ponytail driving me crazy with thoughts of wrapping its length around my hand, my wrist, my forearm.

“Thank you,” she says softly, giving me a sideways glance.

I clear my throat. “For what?”

“Making me forget for a while.”

I let out a long breath, pushing down my depraved, animalistic urges.

As I suspected, the hurt’s still there inside her, lurking beneath the surface.

That I’m the one to give her some relief has my chest swelling with pride.

We all need a distraction every now and then, but she’ll need to face the gravity of everything that’s happened sooner or later.

I’d love to be there for her when that happens.

Last time was just the tip of the iceberg.

“Were you really worried?” she asks, her eyes squinting a little with genuine concern.

“Let’s just say, when you’re least expecting it, I’m going to make your heart pound that hard.”

She gives my bicep a playful whack. “Good luck with that.”

“Sounds like a challenge.”

Her eyes flash with defiance. “I don’t scare easily.”

“Scaring someone isn’t the only way to make their heart pound.”