“You also don’t even know where you are,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Touché. But you didn’t have to save me. Because this is two times now.” I hold up two fingers to emphasize my words. “Granted, I turned down your heroic measures with the power washer thing. I got that done, by the way,” I add with a wink and a finger gun in his direction.
I feel myself rambling and wanting to continue, but he cuts me off.
“Can you just get in the truck?”
“Oh, yes. I can do that. Even if I feel guilty that you had to go out of your way.”
“It’s fine.”
For the first time, he doesn’t sound annoyed at all. His body language tells me he’s probably irritated from either my rambling or having to come out here to get me, but the way he talks doesn’t reflect that. It’s hard to figure him out though, because he never smiles.
I hustle to the passenger side, but he beats me to it. Opening it before I can put my hand on it.
Did he just…
“Thank you, kind gentleman.”
Oh my god, Blair. Stop it.
I think the altitude is getting to me.
I jump in the truck and watch as he rounds the hood. Looking at the dirt road with each step he takes. My stomach does a somersault with nerves that I’m putting him out for coming to get me.
Once he gets in the truck, the tension grows thicker just beingin such a small space with the man. The truck is small, and on the inside, it’s well kept, like he cares for it often. The smell takes over my senses and forces me to turn and look at his side profile. I can’t pinpoint exactly what the smell is, but it’s a mix of spice and earth. Whatever the hell the earth smells like, it’s right here in this Chevy.
I stare at him longer, wanting to know more about it, but also not wanting to pry into his life when he’s clearly a private person. His facial features are flat while he focuses on the road ahead of us. One hand on the wheel and the other hanging out the window. Wearing his signature look of a flannel rolled up at the sleeves.
I’ll never stop wanting to see that.
Okay, but I have to stop.
He clearly has a girlfriend. I saw her with my own two eyes at the store.
“Thanks again. I’m sorry about all this,” I tell him honestly.
“Do you run a lot?” he asks, gaze still locked on the road.
“I used to. Back in the city.” The way his jaw hardens when I say the word city makes the hairs on my arm stand tall.
What is that all about?
“This was the first time I've been running since I got here,” I continue. “I don’t normally run with a GPS tracker. Which is why I got lost. I don’t even know how far I ran. It feels like a lot. Maybe my longest run in years.”
He nods but doesn’t respond.
Now I feel like I’m rambling again. My hands feel sweaty on my lap and my chest feels tight. There’s something about him that just sends a nervous frenzy through my blood. Maybe it’s how rude he is. Maybe it’s that I’m afraid he’s going to go off on me in a fit of rage.
I’m nervous, but I’m not scared.
Griffin Barlow doesn’t scare me.
He sort of intrigues me. I think under that grumpy exterior is a man who’s hurting from something…but what?
“So, you work every day?” I ask; in an attempt to make this drive less awkward.
He nods again.
