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Her gaze finds mine, and something flares in me. Because I would catch her. And the hottest thing is that I think she knows it. Maybe nobody has ever caught her, but I would. I would catch her. I would keep her. Make her mine.
They say there are two types of fear—the kind that has you running far, far away, and the kind that shakes you so deeply that you can’t look away.
“Drive nicely, that’s how you say it. Not drive nice.” Oh God. Nicely. Correcting my grammar even at gunpoint. I’m so fucking hot for her, I think I might burst into flames.
