Part 14 (2/2)
No one answered at the Owen house, so they left to go to the Brian's place, which was about twenty miles away. Della didn't talk for the first fifteen minutes. Neither did Chase.
All she'd done was rest her head on his chest. Let him put his arms around her. Why did it seem like more?
The answer came. Came with clarity. Because she'd leaned on him. Physically. Emotionally.
Della Tsang didn't lean on people. At least not many people. Definitely not someone she barely knew. Especially not someone who had basically caused the problem plaguing her.
Fracking h.e.l.l. She was so d.a.m.n confused.
She glanced up at the cars moving w.i.l.l.y-nilly on the four-lane freeway, her emotions experiencing the same kind of traffic.
A green Saturn jumped lanes two cars ahead. Houston drivers drove like werewolves trying to reach a fresh kill before another wolf got all the good parts. She suddenly recognized the stretch of freeway. They were only a few miles from the turnoff to her neighborhood. And just like that, mentally she was back in the car with her dad when he taught her to drive.
It's the same as playing chess. You have to be on the offensive and the defensive. You have to guess what the man in the car beside you is going to do.
Funny thing was, he never lost his temper with her, not even when she accidentally pulled into the side of the garage and ran over his golf clubs. Her chest grew heavier remembering what Derek had told her about the calm and gentle man who'd raised and loved ... used to love her. The police suspected he had been the one who murdered his sister, Bao Yu. It just couldn't be.
He never hit her or her sister. He didn't need to. The look of disappointment in his eyes was punishment enough for both her and Marla. Right then, a new pain wiggled its way into her heart. She missed them. Missed them so badly it hurt.
She pushed a finger against her temple, wondering why she was suddenly thinking about all that.
”d.a.m.n!” Chase seethed.
Della jerked her gaze up as a red van shot into Chase's lane. He swerved, tires screeching, into the left lane between two speeding cars. Then the car in front of them slammed on its brakes. Chase did the same, and then to prevent rear-ending that car, he jumped back into the other lane. Horns blew all around them.
Della saw the accident in her mind: cars piling up, people hurt, blood, lots of blood. But Chase somehow, G.o.d only knew how, managed to keep from being hit.
Chase, hands still grasping the wheel, muttered another curse. Della, adrenaline shooting into her veins, let go of a deep breath. Then she glanced out the side window to see a gold Honda pulling up beside her.
In slow motion, she saw the driver start to turn his head.
”s.h.i.+t!” With super vampire speed, she unlocked her seat belt. Her gaze darted to the floorboard, already occupied by the huge, expensive camera bag. She did the only thing she could to hide from the other driver-she threw herself over the console, between the gears.h.i.+ft and the seats, and plopped her face in Chase's lap.
”Frack!” he muttered, as his b.u.t.t shot up from the seat at least two inches. He groaned.
Perhaps her chin had come in contact with his boys. She did have a pretty hard chin. But she didn't care. Oh, she cared. Being here was the last place she wanted to be. But she wasn't moving. Couldn't.
If it was a choice between burying her face in Chase's crotch or letting her father see her driving around Houston in a zippy-looking Camaro with a good-looking guy, she'd go with Chase's crotch. Her father would have a s.h.i.+t fit.
He'd probably pull her out of Shadow Falls and stick her b.u.t.t in some reform school. She couldn't lose Shadow Falls. Couldn't lose Kylie, Miranda, Holiday, Burnett, and even little Hannah Rose. Chase's crotch was a better choice. And she was going to stay there, nose-deep, until he got off the freeway. But if he farted, she would have to kill him!
Chapter Seventeen.
”Della?” Chase hissed.
”Get off the freeway,” she snapped, then she remembered her dad's exit was next. ”No, don't get off the freeway.” She turned her head to the side a little and the tip of her nose s.h.i.+fted across his zipper.
”Della?” he said, firmer. ”What the h.e.l.l are you doing?”
You mean other than trying not to think about where my face is? ”What do you think I'm doing?” Then, realizing what his answer might be, she added, ”Forget I asked that. I'm hiding. My dad's in the gold Honda in the lane to the right.”
”s.h.i.+t,” he said.
”I already said that,” Della spit out. And then another wave of panic set in. ”Did he see me? Is he staring at the car?”
”No,” he said.
”Then why did you say 's.h.i.+t'?”
”Because...”
”Did I hurt you?” she asked, remembering how hard she'd slammed into his lap, and feeling her face getting warm with embarra.s.sment.
”A little.”
”Sorry,” she said, patting the side of his leg before she realized how awkward that would feel. Her hands on his leg. Then again, why should patting his leg be awkward when she had her nose in his private parts?
The next noise he made was a chuckle. Deep, honest, and almost musical. It still p.i.s.sed her off.
”Don't laugh,” she said between tightened lips.
”Sorry, it's funny.”
”No, it's not,” she snapped back.
”Oh, yes it is.” She felt his hand gently brush some of her hair from her cheek. The car's emergency brake handle bit into her ribs.
She closed her eyes, the heat of humiliation burning all the way inside her chest. ”Has he turned off the freeway yet?”
”Not yet,” he said. ”Just stay there.” His finger brushed over her ear, as if tracing the outer edges.
”Are you watching the road?” she blurted out.
”Yes.”
”Then quit playing with my ear.”
He laughed again. ”You're worried about your ear?”
She moaned.
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