Page 15 of Oz (Finding Home #1)

“You are aware I have a lot less than six months now to complete a task that Jesus would have baulked at in his miracles phase? I barely have time to sleep, let alone jaunt off to the seaside and have some fish and chips.”

He immediately looks worried. “Have you had a day off since you came here?”

I hesitate. “That’s not the point,” I start to say, but he groans.

“Oh my God, that’s terrible. You’ll be burning out.”

“Slow down. I think that happens to hedge fund managers, not building site organisers.”

His lips quirk. “Is that your new job title?”

I put my hands on my hips. “Does it suit me?” I turn around. “Does my new job title make my bum look big?”

There’s a protracted silence and I suddenly realise that I’m actually talking to my boss and not flirting in a club. He’s so lovely it’s hard to remember. I turn slowly back and swallow hard as his eyes seem to cling to my arse.

“Sorry,” I mutter and he jerks and looks up.

“Why?”

I shrug. “You’re my boss. I keep forgetting it.”

He stares at me and suddenly smiles. “I have the same problem, Oz. Why do you think that is?”

I open my mouth and shut it quickly because I cannot think of a thing to say that wouldn’t land me in worse trouble than I’ve just got out of. For a second, disappointment seems to flit across his face, but then he clears it and claps his hands together.

“Well, shall we do this?”

I breathe in deeply, trying to dispel the strong urge I have to fall on him and kiss his face off. “There’s nothing I can say that’s going to change your mind, is there?” I say resignedly.

He smiles happily. “Nope.”

He presses the button to open the locks and gestures me sunnily into the driving seat. Climbing in next to me, he turns to face me. “First lesson. When we’re getting in and out of a car what should we be looking for?”

“I’m thinking serial killer swans now,” I say morosely and try to stop the uptick of my lips at his laughter.

“Apart from swans, what other disasters should we avoid?”

“Disasters? It’s not The Towering Inferno . Oh, my God,” I say, starting to panic. “I haven’t started the engine yet. What’s going to happen?”

He snorts. “I’m thinking maybe just look around so you’re not going to open the door and bang into a cyclist or pedestrian.”

I subside. “Oh. Okay, that sounds doable.” I wave my hand. “Carry on.”

His lip twitches. “Thank you.” He straightens up in his seat, the leather creaking, and I try to inhale his fresh, sweet scent without being too obvious or looking like I’m having an asthma attack.

He pulls out an old book and starts to thumb through the pages.

“What’s that?” I ask.

He cradles it protectively as if he thinks I’m going to rip it from his hands and feed it to the thuggish swans.

“It’s a book on teaching driving. I found it in the study.”

“How old is it?” I marvel.

“It’s not that old,” he says defensively.

“I bet there’s a chapter in there on how not to run over the man walking in front of your car with a flag.”

He snorts. “Shut the fuck up. I just want to do this right.”

I shake my head while melting inside. “Okay then.” I wave a lordly hand. “Proceed.”

“Thank you,” he says dryly and touches his forehead in a salute. “Okay, the first thing you have to be aware of is that you are in control of the car. The car is not in control of you.”

I nod. “Like BDSM.”

“Pardon?”

“Like BDSM. The person on their knees is the one with all the power, not the person spanking them.” He stares at me and I cough. “At least so I’ve heard.”

He looks at me, biting his lip before obviously deciding not to venture down that conversational bypass. “Okay, let’s start with the pedals. First, can you reach them?”

I push my foot out and flush. “Not exactly,” I say through clenched teeth. If he says how cute I am or sweet, I’ll smack him one. Most men when confronted with my size tend to think it makes me the adult male equivalent of a Pokémon.

Silas, however, is smarter. Hastily looking at the pedals, he avoids my irate gaze. “Pull your seat forwards if you want. Or backwards,” he quickly adds. “I mean if you haven’t got enough leg room.”

My lip twitches. He’s so adorable.

He watches while I grab the lever and pull the seat forward. “You can go up and down too,” he mutters.

I turn to wink at him. “I know I can. It’s one of my specialities.”

He swallows hard. “No, I mean the seat goes up and down if you can’t see over the wheel.” He falters slightly when he catches my steely gaze and settles for pointing aimlessly across the car park ahead of us as if I’d somehow mistakenly thought that I’d look out the back window when driving.

I bite my lip. “I’m just a bit sensitive about my size,” I say in a low voice. “Too many years of having the piss taken out of me or being spoken to like a child.”

He smiles at me and says hesitantly, “I think the problem, Oz, is that you look delicate but that’s not who you are. You’re actually really fierce.”

I stare at him. No man who’s not a friend has ever said that about me. “My mum used to say that my spirit animal was probably something small with sharp teeth.”

He looks me up and down. “Like a hamster?”

I glare at him. “I was actually thinking of a fox but you’re saying I’ve got a big belly and round cheeks.”

He breaks into a fit of what can only be described as giggles. To see a big bearded man giggle is oddly awesome. “Like a mutant hamster,” he gets out between laughter and holding his sides.

I shake my head, trying not to smile and failing. “If you’ve quite finished insulting me, can we get on with this terrible driving lesson? I’m sure no one at a professional driving school would have called me a hamster and made BDSM jokes.”

“ I didn’t make them,” he says indignantly. “That was you.”

“I can’t hear you,” I say loudly. “I’m concentrating on my pedals.”

He shakes his head, grinning. “Okay, back to business, Pika.”

“What the fuck is that?”

“It’s a little animal that looks like a rabbit.”

“Oh my God .” I throw my arms up. “I don’t need second sight to know that nickname’s fucking sticking.”

He laughs. “You’re so talented you should have a stall at Blackpool Pier and read some palms.”

I shake my head as he sobers up from the next fit of laughter. “Okay,” he finally manages. “Okay, I’m ready.” He looks at me and snorts again but composes himself and checks his book. “Can you get your hands all round the wheel?”

I smile salaciously at him. “I can get my hands around most girths. It’s like a superpower.”

He sighs. “ So many innuendos. It’s like teaching David Walliams to drive.”

I laugh. “Okay, I can manage to handle the wheel. What’s next?”

He flicks a page in the bloody book and consults it. “Make sure the doors are shut,” he reads aloud. “Any idea how we can tell?”

I shake my head. “If there’s a bit of a draft and I fall out, they must be open.”

He flushes. He’s so earnest and adorable. Who knew that would be my kryptonite?

“Stupid fucking book,” he mutters and chucks it in the back seat accompanied by my laughter. He twists round. “Okay, we’ll do it my way.”

“Be still my heart,” I mutter.

He grins. “You should be worried. I failed my test three times.”

“Three times . Who the fuck fails three times ?”

“Says the man who’s never taken a test.”

“Even so, I know enough to know you’d have to be seriously bad to fail a driving test three times.”

“They’re very harsh in their judgements,” he says primly. “I felt they were being far too picky.”

“What did you fail on?” He mutters something and I grin. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

“I crashed the car the first time,” he mutters.

I start to laugh, holding my sides. “Oh my God, this is so good. And they failed you for that? Judgemental arseholes.”

“The instructor used very harsh language. He swore at me.”

I laugh harder. “Poor baby,” I gasp. “What happened the second time?”

“I reversed rather than going forward.”

I snort. “Did you hit anything?”

“No. Luckily with the dual controls the examiner was able to swerve and miss the old lady.”

I’m crying now. “Shit. This is brilliant. So, crashing the car and a near flattening of an OAP. These tests are so fucking harsh . Who could pass with those unattainably high standards? What was the third?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t want to tell you.”

I grab his arm. I’m laughing so hard I can’t speak properly. “Please, you have to.”

A grin flits across his lips before he quashes it. “You have to do an emergency stop. The examiner signals it when he slams his clipboard down on the dashboard.”

“And?”

He shrugs. “You have to understand I was quite jumpy by then. I was a bag of nerves, really. Anyway, he slammed his hand down very loudly.” He pauses. “Much too loudly and extremely forcefully, if you ask me.”

I bite my lip. “And?”

He shoots me a dark look. “I jumped and broke his nose with my elbow.”

I’m howling with laughter now and holding my sides. “Oh my God, I should teach you.”

He watches me, grinning ruefully. “It’s not funny. I had to go and take my test in St Austell because the examiners refused to have me.”

I laugh for ages while he grins at me. Finally, I sober and I think a lot of that is to do with the soft way he’s looking at me.

No one has ever looked at me like this. Soft and brimming over with humour and warmth.

For a long second, we stare at each other, the laughter dying and heat replacing it.

I wipe my eyes and straighten and for a second disappointment flits across his face before he schools it.

“Okay, let’s show you the controls.”

He painstakingly shows me the foot controls, explaining everything very clearly and banging on about mirrors and blind spots while I stare at the side of his face and sniff his aftershave.

“Oz, are you listening?”

I jerk and look at him to find him examining me with a quizzical expression on his face.

“Sorry,” I say.

He smiles. “It is pretty boring, but it’s got to be done. Here, this is the gearbox. Push your foot down on the clutch and feel the stick moving through the gears.”