Four Years Later (One Week Girlfriend #4)(33)
Author: Monica Murphy

I have never been patient. If I’m interested in a girl, I go for it. There’s no holding back. But with Chelsea, I’m taking it slow. I’m afraid I’ll scare her.

More than anything, I’m scared I’ll somehow f**k it up. I … like her. A lot. I actually want to spend time with her, and that’s not normal for me.

At all.

I follow her out of the restaurant, resting my hand on her lower back when we walk outside. She’s warm, even through the thick fabric of her sweater, and I slip my hand down slightly, wishing I could slide it over her backside.

But I wait.

The night air is cold and misty; a high, thin fog has settled in, and little sparkles of moisture dot her hair by the time we end up at my car. I open the door for her, feeling all gentlemanly for once in my life, but then all thoughts of being a gentleman fade as I study her ass when she slides into the passenger seat.

Get it together, Maguire, I tell myself as I round the front of my car and open the driver’s door, slipping inside.

“Where to now?” she asks, chewing on her lip in that nervous way she has as she reaches for the seat belt.

“Can’t go to my place unless you want to deal with Wade, and most likely Des.” I start the car and let the engine idle. “They’re both there, and I’m sure other people are over, too.” They can’t ever be alone. Always got to turn everything into a party.

“Oh.” More chewing of the lip. Poor thing. I should probably kiss it and make it better. “My roommate’s home and I think she was having her new so-called boyfriend over, so that probably won’t work.”

“So-called boyfriend?”

She rolls her eyes. “It’s a casual thing that I think she wants to make serious.”

“Ah.” Sounds familiar. I’ve been that guy not willing to make it serious.

I’ve never been in a real relationship, ever. Mom screwed me up in that regard. Though seeing Drew and Fable through the years made me realize that a solid love can last, I’m still full of doubt.

Insecurities. I’m a mess. What girl would really want to deal with me? What with my mommy issues and minor drug problem, I’m no prize.

“Since we can’t go home, want to go for a drive?” I ask her.

She turns her body toward mine, her scent wafting in the air, making me inhale as discreetly as possible. “Where to?”

Damn, she smells good. I could breathe her in all night. “I know a place that has a great view of the city. No one will bother us up there.” I might have parked in that very spot a few times in high school. Always taking a girl with me, it was somewhere private where we could make out and I could possibly get my hand up her shirt or in her panties. No worries about the cops coming by unless we happened to be up there past midnight.

I haven’t been to that spot in a couple of years. Once I graduated high school and got my own place, there was no need to sneak around. Why fool around in the backseat of a car when you can get busy and naked in the comfort of your own bed?

But I’m not getting busy and naked with Chelsea tonight. So I’m looking forward to this.

“Okay.” She runs her tongue over her lower lip, then smiles. “Let’s do it.”

I can read all sorts of things in her “let’s do it” statement but I ignore the urge. Instead I smile, reach out, and give her knee a gentle squeeze. “Let’s do it,” I murmur, making her cheeks flush as she turns away from me and stares out the passenger-side window.

I see the mysterious little smile that curves her lips, though. And I know without a doubt I am definitely kissing Chelsea before the night is through.

CHAPTER 11

Chelsea

Owen drives us out of the city limits and heads up the Skyway, a road I’ve traveled maybe twice since I moved here. But he’s a local, he’s grown up in the area and he knows his way around, all the little-known roads and spots with the best views.

I’m not stupid. We’re not driving to this spot with the awesome view to check out the twinkling lights of the city. I might not have much experience, but even I know that a girl and guy going to park in an isolated spot to check out the view are going to end up making out.

I both can’t wait and am quietly freaking out.

Neither of us really talks during the drive. We listen to the radio. Owen has it on one of those specialty satellite stations that only plays nineties rock. One song comes on in particular and he turns it up¸ a little wisp of a smile curling his lips.

“Candlebox. This song reminds me of being a little kid,” he says wistfully. “My mom loved this band.”

I’ve never heard of them, but Mom always preferred listening to top-forty-type stuff. Grunge rock was not a part of my growing-up playlist whatsoever. “I like his voice,” I say sincerely. It’s a pretty good song, and I’ve come to realize my tastes have changed over the years. I’ve come into my own, found things I like versus what my parents had me listening to, reading, watching … whatever.

“The words remind me of you,” he says softly.

I turn to look at him, shock washing over me. “How?”

“The song is called ‘Blossom.’ Since you told me your middle name is Rose, every time I hear the words rose or flower, blossom, or bloom, I think of you.” His smile grows, but he’s not looking at me. Just tapping the edge of the steering wheel to the beat of the music, his smile growing as he drives in the dark, cold night.

There’s nothing dark or cold about his admission, though. My heart is thumping so hard I’m afraid he can hear it, and I wish I could say something as sweetly poetic as he just did.

Instead I remain quiet and listen to the words of the song. It’s sad, about love and loss, and I wonder what he means by the song making him think of me. Is it only because of the title? Or does he really think we’ll be over before we’ve even begun?

As usual, I read too much into it and worry.

When we finally arrive at our destination, I’m a bundle of nerves. Owen shuts off the car and puts it in park, then turns to look at me. “You cold?”

“I’m okay.” My breaths are coming quick, and I swear I need to get it together before I hyperventilate.

“Want to go outside? I know it’s kind of cold but if we sit on the hood of the car, it’ll warm us up.” He glances in the backseat. “I have a hoodie back there if you want to borrow it.”

“Why do you want to get out?” I keep my gaze locked on the windshield, impressed with the view before us. We’re above the fog line and we can still see the city since the fog is thin and seems to float like a lacy, see-through curtain over town.