I stare at him.
I don’t know what to say.
But I do know I don’t want to argue.
What does it mean that I don’t want to argue?
“All good, Zoe,” he says, his voice so low. “All good. We’ll tackle this when we’re back home. Live in the fairy tale for now. Okay?”
And right then, I let the little girl who always trusted Zander Davidson with both my safety and my heart take the reins.
“Okay, Zander.”
THIRTY
GLITCH
-ZOE-
We sleep under the stars that night, cuddled under blankets and waking slowly with the sunrise.
And while he packed well for a junk-food dinner, grabbing pre-made sandwiches and chips and drinks, his breakfast game was a bit more lackluster.
Still, I didn’t complain when I had a soda as my morning caffeine (it helped that Zee promised to stop at a coffee shop as soon as we were on the road) and chips as breakfast.
Because I got to do it in Zander’s arms, the man still groggy as we watched the sunrise together.
Of course, it wouldn’t be me if we didn’t hit a bump as we packed up and started for the car. Zander is dipping his hand into a bag of Cheetos with one hand, the bag and my keys dangling in the other.
I stop walking altogether.
“You can’t get in like that,” I say, my eyes wide as I stare at Zander’s fingers.
They are absolutely coated in orange cheese powder.
He laughs like I said something funny, then he stops when he sees my face.
“What?”
“You can’t get into my Jeep like that, Zander.”
“Zoe—”
“If you get cheese goo all over my Jeep, God help me, I’ll call your mother and tell her it wasn’t the dog who ate all of her cookies that she baked for the high school football team but you and Tony when you came home drunk off your asses.”
“You wouldn’t.” A small smile starts to spread on his face.
“I won’t if you clean your hands.”
“How the hell am I supposed to clean my hands, Zo?”
I give him a sigh that screams men.
Though, to be fair, I think that’s the kind of sigh only women can interpret correctly.
“Follow me,” I say, walking to the back of my SUV, opening the back tailgate, and digging through my emergency bag before handing him a package of wipes.
“You have wipes? In a Jeep?”
“I have wipes in my emergency kit.”
“Wipes are for emergencies?”
“When it comes to Cheeto fingers in my car, yes.” His smile grows, and I want to be annoyed, but there’s this bubbling effervescence that has been with me all morning that I can’t escape.
“What else do you have in there?”
I sigh, moving things around.
“Granola bars, flares, a heat blanket, a travel sewing kit, dry shampoo—” I toss the wipes back in their spot as Zander takes over the riffling, moving me out of the way.
“Is that . . . ,” he says, digging through my stuff.
No no no no.
I tug on his shoulder, trying to get him away before he can see—
“Jesus, it is. A vibrator is an emergency?” His smile is filling his entire face now, and I can feel a burn taking over mine.
“I’m going to kill your sister,” I mutter under my breath, and then, in a mix of elation and confusion and horror, Zander throws the pink vibrator onto the grass.
“Oh my fucking god, is that my sister’s vibrator?”
“Zander!”
“Zoe, I just touched my sister’s fucking vibrator. I’m sure as fuck throwing that shit as far as humanly possible. Give me those wipes again. And that hand sanitizer. And maybe a flame thrower to burn off my top layer of skin.”
I can’t help but laugh, moving over to the small bullet vibrator and picking it up, wiping it with a wipe I had in my hand.
“This is not your sister’s,” I say, and Zee still stares at the tiny toy, confused.
“Whose is it?”
“It’s mine, I guess.”
“Yours?” I give him a tight smile because, actually, it probably would have been less embarrassing to just say it was Luna’s.
“Why is there a vibrator in your trunk?” I sigh.
“Because I was with Luna last time I was restocking my emergency kit, and she threw it in the cart. She said orgasms were emergencies. I was at my parents’ and, well, didn’t want to bring it inside, so I just . . . left it in my trunk.”
“Huh,” he says with a smile, and I want to run and hide, to ignore this is happening.
But then I’m pinned to the Jeep, Zander in my face, breathing against my lips.
“Let’s make a deal.”
“A deal?” I parrot, my breathing heavy.
Why is my breathing heavy?
It’s the look in Zee’s eyes.
The one that says he’s about to give me a challenge, and he knows I can’t turn down a challenge.
“Use this while I drive.”
“What?” I ask, my voice shaky.
He presses his hips into me and fuck.
He’s hard.
Last night, we didn’t do anything, just stayed up late talking and laughing and watching the stars.
Is it normal to need him this much after just a day?
And what does that mean for my chances of being able to move on and live a normal life after this?
Pretend, Zoe, I remind myself.
“I’m gonna drive. You’re going to use this and make yourself come while I do.”
“Zander—”
His hand grabs mine, and he wraps my fingers around the little vibrator.
“That’s what I want, Zoe. Will you do it for me?” he asks, his lips under my ear.
And because I don’t think I’ve ever been able to say no to Zander, I nod.
And the groan he lets out makes it all worth it.
When we start driving, I don’t start my music.
I don’t roll down my window.
I just sit there, frozen in panic.
Part of me wants to hope that Zander just forgets whatever his plan is.
That would be easy and most definitely the safest option.
But the other part . . .
“Turn it on, Zoe,” he says a few minutes in, his voice low.
“What?”
“Turn it on,” he says, tipping his chin to my hand still wrapped around the small pink vibe.
I could argue.
I could say no.
I know in my gut if I did either, he would back off.
Instantly.
Instead, I press and hold the button until it starts to buzz.
My heart skips a beat, and my pussy clenches just a bit.
“Over your sweats,” he says.
“What?”
“Start over your sweats, baby.” His voice is low and growly, and it sends a shot of heat through me.
“I don’t—” His hand moves, leaving the steering wheel and grabbing my wrist with the buzzing toy. Then he guides it until it’s over top of my loose grey sweats, the toy right over my clit.
“Oh,” I say in a whisper.