Marisa
I can’t muster much empathy for Cameron’s dead mother. Before I can think better of it, I say: “I wish you could meet my parents.”
“What are they like?” He ignores the inappropriate intimacy of my question. Of course my rich rideshare customer isn’t going to meet my parents.
“They’re not perfect,” I say. “They’ve been overprotective, especially after my accident. Part of the reason I went to a college hundreds of miles away was to get out from under their thumbs. But our relationship is pretty good now. I have three younger siblings for them to harass.”
My heart speeds up, a jolt of anxiety as I remember that I still haven’t dealt with the fallout from my plan to change my major.
“Seems you’re the wild child,” Cameron says.
“Hardly. Maybe in my parents’ eyes, but ask any of my friends and they’ll tell you I’m the cautious one.”
“Good.” He doesn’t elaborate, leaving me to wonder why my risk assessment should be of any interest to him.
Our food arrives and we continue to low-key interrogate one another. This man who was so resistant to sharing anything about himself is now opening up to me. Our worlds and even our ages are so different, it’s a wonder we have anything in common. But we do. Turns out that he likes cats more than dogs, but still likes dogs. He’d rather go hungry than eat a cooked carrot, yet raw ones are fine. But he claims to hate romantic comedies.
We’re laughing as I drive us the short distance back to the hotel. “The movie thing is a deal-breaker,” I tell him. “I suppose you call them ‘chick flicks,’ just to be even more cliché.”
“I’m disgruntled,” he counters. “I haven’t had the opportunity to explain myself.”
“By all means,” I tell him. “Please elaborate and become gruntled.”
“Gruntled isn’t—”
“Don’t change the subject,” I scold. We’re almost back to the hotel and it’s going to get awkward again. And I don’t want awkward. The more we talk, the more the idea takes shape in my head. I want this disgruntled, complex, sexy man to be my first lover.
All the reasons add up. I’ve never wanted a man before. I mean, not like this: a burning, irresistible desire. I’m twenty-one years old and a virgin. But I know from that kiss alone that we are compatible. How long will it be before I feel this pull with someone else? Maybe never. And if I do, what are the chances that it will be with someone who takes me as I am, not caring about my scars or asking about my plans for the rest of my life or anything like that.
Cam makes me feel good. And I keep thinking about that one bed.
I may be making a big mistake, but I’ve never wanted to err so badly in my life.
Cameron
Back in the hotel room, it’s awkward.
“So, again, I want to offer that I can sleep in the car,” I say. I can be a gentleman, even if my dick thinks otherwise.
Marisa turns from where she’s unpacking her overnight bag. “That offer was made and rejected, but thanks anyway.”
“That was before we knew there was only one bed.”
She shrugs, as if I’m a platonic friend at a sleepover and not a man who wants to bury my face between her legs until morning. “It’s a king-sized bed.”
“I think it’s a queen,” I argue.
“You’re very… precise.”
She’s correct. Precisely, I’d like to spend the night getting to know her body, which I’m almost as obsessed with as I am her mind. I keep the thought to myself, of course. Instead, I turn on the television.
“Maybe you should wind down with a horrible rom-com.” Playing film critic is easier than talking about my feelings. But Marisa is two steps ahead of me.
“Tell me what you hate about romantic comedies and I’ll consider putting on something from another genre.” Her eyes bore into me as she sizes me up. “You probably tell people you like action adventure, but really you’re into the classic stuff. Or documentaries.”
“Both,” I admit. She’s so right, it’s uncanny. I decide to reward her with the truth. “The setup annoys me. How the couple meets. Some guy’s dog takes a dump in front of some woman’s flower shop or indie bookstore or whatever, and they go from arguing to true love in the space of two hours. Completely unrealistic.”
“I’ll overlook the fact that you’re generalizing,” Marisa says patiently. “Also, it’s called a ‘meet cute.’”
“Did we meet cute?” I can’t resist asking.
She actually ponders my question, as if it’s deserving of serious consideration. “You were grouchy. That fits.”
“I’m still grouchy,” I say grouchily.
“But we didn’t… We aren’t…”
If she didn’t have my full attention before, she does now. “Because it’s not realistic. Thus proving my point.”
Her face falls and I don’t know why. She sits down on the bed and pulls a pillow protectively onto her lap. “Remember earlier when we kissed?”
Okay, I’m fully hard now. “Of course I remember. Should I apologize?”
“No. Why would you apologize? You asked permission. It was like a college orientation tutorial in consent.”
“They have tutorials in consent?” I latch on to that part of her statement. “Men don’t know how not to be assholes without formal lessons?”
She raises an eyebrow and I feel like apologizing for my entire gender. Men, in fact, can be assholes. I was a week into rushing for a fraternity when I bailed because of an especially disgusting competition involving sorority girls and copious amounts of alcohol.
Marisa
“Don’t answer that,” I blurt. I grab the remote and switch off the TV. “I’m not in the mood for a movie. I’ll probably just shower and get ready for bed.”
Just saying the words “get ready for bed” with Cameron in the same room makes my stomach do that stupid flip-flop thing.
“I could probably use a shower, too,” he admits, and of course I instantly imagine him nude, water sluicing over his body, trickling down the lines of his muscles, settling in the divots of his… “Marisa, are you okay? You can shower before me. I wasn’t trying to take cuts.”
He’s so damn cute, his chiseled face scrunched up with concern, that it brings me back to reality. To my goofy side. To my comfort zone. “Take cuts?” I tease. “Are we in grade school? There’s no cut-sies. You go first. I don’t care.”
“We’re not buddies on a road trip, having some sleepover.” This man either doesn’t appreciate my sense of humor, or he’s more uptight than it already seemed. But he grabs one of the hotel’s white towels and disappears, fully clothed, into the bathroom.
As soon as I hear the water running, I grab my phone and call Lucia. I need my best friend’s feedback on what I have in mind.
“What’s up with California’s sexiest chauffeur?” I can hear the TV in the background; she must be watching reruns of The Bachelorette again.
“Turn down that hot mess of a show,” I demand. “I have an update for you, my favorite stalker of men.”
“You say stalker, I say helpful researcher.”
“Listen, Lucia, Cameron will not murder me.” I stare at the closed bathroom door as my imagination conjures up dirty scenes. “In fact, I think he might be just the man with whom to cash in my V card.”
“Cringe,” my best friend says. “Are we still saying ‘V card’? I thought we’d moved past that as a society.”
“Ugh, I was using hyperbole.”
“That’s not… what hyperbole is,” she says slowly. “Maybe stick to math.”
“Okay, fine. Here’s some math: me plus hot dude equals potential orgasms and breaking the seal on my future dating life.”
“Okay, that I can get behind.”
“So, should I, like, proposition this guy?”
Lucia pauses, like she’s actually giving it some thought. “What’s the worst that can happen?”
I could actually catastrophize all day on
any number of topics. But I answer, “Bad sex and a really awkward car ride?”
“My risk assessment would say go for it.” I can almost see my best friend chewing her bottom lip over the phone. “But…”
“But what, Lucia? If you have something to say, hurry up and say it. He’s almost out of the shower.”
“I’m afraid it will mean more to you than it does to him, and you’ll catch feelings.”
“That will not happen,” I say more confidently than I feel. “I can compartmentalize my brain from my...”
I trail off and turn to face the wall so I’ll stop trying to use my non-existent x-ray vision on the bathroom door.
“Jeez, Marisa, if you can’t even say it, should you be putting things in it?”
“My pussy, okay? Are you happy?”
I’ve spoken too loudly, and when I look up, the man I’ve been fantasizing about is standing just outside the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist. “Gotta go, Lucia. Bye.”
I hang up and wait in vain for the floor to swallow me up.
“Is everything okay?” Cameron is wearing a look of concern and a too-small towel. “I heard you kind of… shout.”
“Yeah, I’m fine.” I’m about to clarify that my pussy is also fine, but thankfully my brain starts working again. It’s a miracle, since it’s taking most of my mental energy to avoid staring at Cam’s chest. Turns out his business suit didn’t tell the entire story, because it looks like he could have stepped out of a movie set. His muscles are defined, he’s got a thin dusting of hair on his chest, and he looks nothing like any boy I’ve ever dated. He’s a grown-ass man, and I am in over my head.
“So… do you want to shower? I’m sure there’s plenty of hot water,” he says politely, as if he’s not a god sent down to earth to taunt a silly, sex-starved virgin.
“Shower yes will do I get in it.” Words tumble out of my mouth in random order as I grab my pajamas and escape into the still-steamy bathroom.
Cameron
Marisa is as adorable as she is sexy. I cannot figure her out, which I admit is part of the appeal. The mix of confidence and shyness. Of daring and reserve. I glimpse myself in the mirror and I have a stupid grin on my face. All I heard was “pussy,” which was shocking enough, but from the way she blushed there must have been more to it than that.
I hear the water running, so I take my time toweling off my body, spending a few seconds too long on my half-hard dick. Fuck. I almost stroked myself in the shower, thinking of Marisa in the next room, but I was a gentleman for once and resisted. I glare at myself in the mirror as I use the towel to dry my hair. No. You will not hit on the beautiful young woman you’ve hired to tote your selfish ass from Point A to Point B. You will not imagine how it would feel to bury your cock inside her and fill her up. To make her yours. And not just for one night.
I throw on a t-shirt and track shorts before my misguided fantasy can go any further. I’ve lost my mind, clearly. I’d spent the last two minutes of my shower with the water on cold. It didn’t help. Something tells me nothing will, and the sooner Marisa can get me to my destination and herself back to safety, the better. For both of us.
After I brush my teeth, I assess the bed situation. I lift one side of the covers, sliding myself underneath while keeping my bulky body as close to the edge as possible. I won’t be able to fall asleep with her beside me. The least I can do is make sure not to toss and turn so that she gets some rest. I get out my phone and check for messages that may have come in while I was showering, but there’s nothing.
A few minutes later, Marisa emerges from the bathroom. Her hair is loose, and she’s wearing a pajama set that’s just baby doll shorts and a tank top that’s so sheer I can see her nipples through it. Fuck me.
“You ready for bed?” she asks, stretching over me and reaching for the light. Her top rides up and I see a bit of bare flesh, and the knotted discoloration of a scar. I could almost swear there’s something in her tone that wasn’t there before. She exudes innocence, but something about her here, now, makes me wonder if she wants me to want her. Or maybe that’s just a trick that my perverted mind is playing on me. That kiss felt real.
“Yes,” I grunt. She turns off the light with a click, but there’s still a sliver coming from the bathroom door that she’s left ajar.
“You don’t…” She pauses, her voice almost timid. “You don’t mind that I left the bathroom light on? Like as a nightlight?”
“That’s fine.” Is Marisa afraid of the dark? She wouldn’t be with my body wrapped around hers all night long.
I roll over and stare at the wall. The wallpaper is cracked in a few spots and the baseboard is cracked, too. I haven’t stayed in a hotel this low end in years. It’s clean, but that’s about all I can say for it.
I hear a rustle as Marisa crawls into bed. I clench my fists as my dick hardens. I picture her sweet little body sliding along the rough sheets. She deserves sheets with some super-high thread count. And good pillows. I wonder how she would react if I invited myself to my side of the bed and pulled the covers up over the two of us. Showed her how I really feel. Got my mouth on her.
I’m an asshole. That’s been established. But even I’m not enough of an asshole to make a move on a girl who’s a dozen years my junior, someone I’ve hired to drive me. Someone who is at a financial and geographical disadvantage.
“It’s weird.” Marisa’s voice carries in the dark.
“What’s weird?”
“Well, all of it,” she says lightly. “But specifically it’s that I’m not tired. Even after all that driving. It might be the mocha you finally bought me or…”
She trails off. “Or what?”
Her voice lowers, as if she’s about to tell me a secret. “I’ve never shared a room with a man before. And I’ve been thinking.”
Now I’m fully erect. Is she saying what I think she’s saying? “Marisa.” My tone is a warning.
She continues as if I’ve said nothing. “I’ve been thinking, there are some things I’ve done with a guy, but a lot of other things that I haven’t. Things that I want to do. Try.”
I draw in a breath, my body still as my heart pounds. “I’m sure you’ll get to do those things, Marisa.”
I listen to her breathe in and out for so long that at some point I wonder if she’s fallen asleep. “I was thinking, Cam, that I’d like to do some of those things with you.”
Marisa
There. I’ve said it. I’ll either be mortified by rejection or shocked by acceptance. And what does it say about me that I’m hoping for the latter?
“Casual sex is a thing,” I say. I leave out the part about how nothing with Cam feels casual. “Remember, the apps and all that?”
“I’m familiar with the concept.” His voice is tense and unreadable. Almost grim.
“Just for fun, you know,” I elaborate. “People meeting people at a bar and going together.”
“That’s not safe.” His voice rises, a low rumble just inches from me. “You had better not be doing that.”
I reach over and rest my hand on his arm. His muscles bunch up. He’s tense, frozen. “I’m not doing that,” I say. “That’s the point. I don’t feel comfortable with that. And that’s not how I want to lose my virginity. But I feel comfortable with you, Cam.”
“You shouldn’t,” he says through clenched teeth.
“Shouldn’t want to get it out of the way, or shouldn’t want it with you?”
“Either. Both.” Finally, Cam turns to face me, and the movement makes my hand fall from his arm. I position myself in a mirror image to him. I can see the scruff on his face that wasn’t there earlier in the day when I picked him up. It feels like I’ve known him so much longer. Or maybe that’s just something I’m telling myself so that I can go through with this.
“Why not?” I know my tone is petulant, but at this point, what do I have to lose besides my pride, and, I hope, my virginity.
“It’s a big deal.”
/> “Who says?” I counter.
“Um, society?”
“Exactly.”
He squeezes his eyes shut as if he’s in actual physical pain. “Regardless, your first time should feel special.”
“That sounds cliché,” I say. “Plus, who’s to say this doesn’t feel special to me?”
“You deserve more than a two-star hotel room with a guy you just met.”
“Don’t make me feel cheap,” I volley back. “I’m pretty sure it’s three stars, plus you bought me breakfast for dinner first.”
“That’s not funny, Marisa.”
“It’s maybe a little funny?” I say hopefully. Am I supposed to bat my eyes? Push my boobs together seductively? I should have done more research. Then it hits me. Maybe it’s not him. Maybe it’s me.
“What’s wrong?” Judging by the concern in his voice, I figure I must look as stricken as I feel. I scoot backward until I’m almost falling off the bed.
“Shit. I’m sorry. Damn. Hell.” I use all my low-level curse words. “I thought that since you liked kissing me, you would, I mean, you might, I mean… men… most men—”
“Do I seriously have to tell you I am not most men?” he demands. “And do you seriously think that I could be inside you—fuck you—and have it mean nothing?”
“Umm… maybe?” I gather the sheets against my body. The light from the doorway plays on his blue eyes, and they are flashing with intensity. He pulls the sheet away from me, and the rush of air brings my already-hard nipples to points. Then he pulls the sheet off his own body. I gasp when I see Cam’s tented erection.
“I want you, Marisa. I’ve wanted my cock inside you for most of the day,” he says, stroking the outline of a very large, very intimidating bulge. “If I do this, if we do this, isn’t a fucking favor.”
His Driver: An Instalove Road Trip Romance Page 4
