That was fair enough. I'd gotten pulled over on the main drag when I was a teenager, back before I realized that in the on-season, they changed the predictable speed limit to ten miles-per-hour lower. I still suspected it was done solely to rack up tickets than for the supposed need to do so to protect foot traffic.
"Was she sure it was him?" I asked as King cut the engine, gaze fixed pointedly forward.
"No. She just caught a glance. But her stalker is slick. He can sneak in and out easily, barely ever being seen. It could have been him."
I turned to curl over between the front seats to free Padfoot at the exact moment Kingston's body curled forward across toward my seat to open the glove box. The awkward coincidence making my boobs graze his arm as I turned.
Maybe it was a bit embarrassing to admit - but it was the truth whether it made me uncomfortable or not - but my nipples tweaked hard at the firm contact, something I prayed happened after my body finished brushing his and not when he could feel it.
He clearly didn't want to talk about the kiss.
It had been impulsive.
And, obviously, regrettable.
I tried, but ultimately failed, to convince myself that a realization such as that didn't crush my pride to dust inside.
Taking a deep breath, I turned back, finding Kingston looking every bit the private security expert with his giant, professional binoculars to his eyes, stoically still, breathing even, lost in his own world.
He said nothing.
And since I had nothing to play off of - and I didn't want to be a pest while he was working - I said nothing either.
My head rested against the panel behind the window, looking off at the quiet suburban street. Worrying about hamsters and parakeets in order not to think about the man beside me, the way the air in the car felt charged, the way I was going to have to go home with him eventually, climb into bed with him again. And just sleep. When everything within me wanted to do infinitely more.
I didn't even realize I was tired enough to fall asleep until I felt a hand close around my thigh, jarring me awake, my breath snorting inward in a rather humiliating way that made Kingston's lips curl upward, his eyes soft.
"I fell asleep." Yep, those were the first - utterly lame - words out of my mouth.
"You did," he agreed.
"I barely did anything today."
"You needed sleep. Almost as much as you need food. Your stomach has been growling for the past half hour."
"Sorry..."
"Are you apologizing for being hungry?" he asked, smile spreading.
"What time is it?"
"Nine," he said, rolling a crick out of his neck. "I finally spotted the guy she saw. It wasn't her stalker. I snapped a picture and sent it to her to ease her mind. We can head back. You still want Chinese?"
"I want peanut butter & jelly in bed."
"Well, that I can do," he told me, turning the car over. "Just reconnecting Padfoot," he told me, voice low as his body curled over mine, stealing all my air, making my belly flip-flop at his nearness, at the way his eyes were all gooey and warm.
I wasn't entirely sure I took a proper breath until he put the car into drive.
"The bread is expired," King told me twenty minutes later after I had taken the world's quickest shower and climbed into pajamas.
"Is it moldy?" I asked, moving in beside him, reaching into the plastic sleeve to pull out slices, holding them up to the light. "I will risk it," I decided, watching as he reached up for the peanut butter. "Do you want some too?"
"I don't like peanut butter."
"What?" I didn't realize it was a bit of a, well, shriek until he turned, white teeth showing.
"I know, blasphemous, right?"
"If you don't like it, why do you keep it?"
"I was trying out that biscuit recipe you gave me."
I didn't ask if it was a hit. Half the peanut butter was gone. "Do you like jelly?"
"Jelly, yeah."
"Okay, here. Let's try this," I suggested, finding the jelly, spreading it on two slices of bread, sandwiching them together, then going into his spice rack, coming back to sprinkle the top with a cinnamon.
"Where'd you come up with this?"
"My parents wouldn't let me get an E-Z-Bake oven when I was a kid. Something about burning myself. Like the light bulb could do that much damage. Anyway, they got me this little sandwich maker thing. It pressed bread together to seal in whatever you put inside it and cut off the crust. The recipe book had a jelly suggestion with cinnamon sprinkle. I remember really liking that."
"Sounds good. Were your parents over-protective?"
"Um, maybe it is more fair to say they liked order?" I suggested, following him toward the living room, giving a smile to Padfoot as he destroyed his delayed dinner. "Like I said, they were older when I came along. They got used to their life being just-so, everything calm and predictable."