Yes.No.
“Ugh.”
“Everything okay back there?” the driver asks, voice laced with concern.
My eyes snap open and maybe it’s guilt or maybe it’s curiosity, but I twist in my seat, peering out the back window.
Sure enough, my sexy savior is making his way down the street, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans.
“Can you pull over?” I ask, rolling down my window.
The driver complies and when he catches up, I call out to him. “Need a lift?”
Surprise transforms his rugged features, but it’s quickly replaced by a shy smile. And damn if my ovaries don’t come to attention. “You don’t mind sharing?”
There’s a dirty joke on the tip of my tongue, but I bite it back. “You’re the one paying. That means you get to use the service, too.”
“I didn’t want to come off like an entitled creep.”Be still my heart. He rakes his fingers through his inky black hair andwow. His hands are the size of dinner plates.
You know what they say about guys with big hands…
I slam the door on that line of thinking.
Yes, he has a drool worthy smile.
Yes, he seems genuinely charming.
No, I am not interested.
I shove the car door open. “Come on, Galahad, get in.”
He squeezes into the back with me—no small feat since he’s an actual freaking giant—and rattles off his address to the driver.
“Okay if I drop you first?” she asks, gaze finding mine in the rearview mirror. “Your place is closer.”
“Works for me.”
“Y’all can drop me first,” Galahad drawls, his low gravel sending me. “If you don’t want me to see where you live, I mean.”
I turn to face him and it’s all I can do not to laugh. The poor guy is folded like origami, the top of his head pressed to the ceiling despite the fact that he’s ducking, and he has to sit sideways because his legs are way too long for the cramped backseat.
Who even is this man?
He shifts awkwardly, and I realize he’s still waiting for an answer.
“It’s fine,” I say, waving off his concern.
My building has great security and with over two hundred apartments, it’s nothing if not anonymous.
We ride in silence for a few blocks, the only sound the steady beat of R&B pulsing from the stereo. College Park passes in a blur, giving me ample time to study the walking contradiction beside me.
The guy is proof you can’t judge a book by its cover.
Despite his size—which is intimidating as hell—he’s soft-spoken, compassionate, and apparently self-aware.
I’m a tall woman at 5’10, and even I was intimidated when I looked up to find him towering over me on Greek Row. His height is staggering, yes, but he’s also muscular, with broad shoulders and a barrel chest that suggests regular workouts. He’s fit, but not ripped, and there’s a softness to him that’s easy to miss if you don’t look too closely.
It’s not just physical, it’s in his eyes as well.
