I knew I loved you.
I gulp again.
A song by a popular artist comes on the radio and he taps his foot against the floorboard in rhythm. The insistent tip-tap begins to drive me up the wall.
“Okay,” I say, flipping off the radio. “Let’s talk.”
“Okay. Let’s talk,” he repeats.
“What are you? A canary?”
“A canary?” he laughs. “You mean a parrot.”
“No, a canary. Canaries talk.”
“Do they? I don’t think so.”
“Look it up,” I laugh. “We had a canary when I was little and it talked.”
He gives me the cutest, silliest look. “I’m sure it did.”
I smack him on the shoulder. That’s all it takes for the air to shift. He must feel it too because he cranks up the air conditioner.
“I’ve been hot all fucking day,” he grumbles.
I want to comment that he looks fucking hot every time I see him. I could make a note about how hard his shoulder just was when I hit him and how I’d like to roam my hands down his biceps and feel him flex his body while he’s up against mine. Or on mine. Or under mine. Or inside mine.
“Hey!” he laughs, grabbing the top of the steering wheel. “Pay attention or I’ll drive.”
The car evens back out as I feel every ounce of blood rush to my face. “Sorry.”
“You feeling okay today?” he grins. “You’re flushed.”
“I’m fine.”
“Yes, you are,” he whistles. “I keep thinking about last night.”
“I wanted to talk to you about that, actually,” I gulp.
Glancing at him over my shoulder, there’s a look of surprise on his face.
“I don’t know what came over me,” I start.
“I know what came over me. All over me, actually . . .”
“Damn it, Ford,” I blush. “Stop.”
“Fine. I’m sorry. Continue.”
He’s not sorry. Not a bit. The smirk set deep in his cheeks tells the truth.
Sighing, I take a left towards the salon.
“Look, El. I’m not sure what you’re thinking, but I’m not sorry about what happened,” he says. “If you want me to say it was a mistake or apologize for something—”
“No,” I say hurriedly. “I, um, I don’t want you to apologize. I just didn’t expect that to happen, and I’m not sure what kind of signal it puts out.”
I can tell he’s grinning as he shifts in the seat so he’s facing me. “What kind of signal it puts out?”