I blink at him stupidly. I'm sure there must be something I'm missing. What's going on? Why is Connor here? Why is he looking at me like that? Oh, right. He's asked me a question. I can't remember it though.
"What?" God. I'm so dumb.
"Are you okay?" he repeats. And his eyes, silver in the bright sunlight streaming between the gaps in the buildings around us, are so sincere. So earnest with worry that I just want to ease all of his stress.
"Ye-yeah. I'm fine." I offer, a second later my brain catches up with the situation unfolding before me. "Wait! What are you doing here?"
"Emma sent me," he finally let's go of my arm, I feel the imprints of his fingers, the warmth seeping into me from where his skin touched mine. "She just said you were in trouble and asked if I could come get you." He's giving me a look like he doesn't fully understand what's going on. I take it that means Emma left out the more crucial details of how I found myself in this particular situation.
"Don't you have some important meeting you're supposed to be in right now," I raise a brow and cross my arms defensively. I feel too vulnerable. Like an exposed nerve. Raw. I don't want Connor to know about my memory issues. I want him to keep looking at me like I'm a normal girl that he might be interested in. Not like I'm some kind of traveling side-show.
"No," he shrugs taking a step back from me. When he finally stops crowding my field of vision I notice that we've attracted attention. I imagine that a six foot, something man driving what is most likely an expensive sports car racing down the street isn't something any of these people see every day. "It's Emma's presentation; I didn't have to be there." He explains. I just nod. I don't have the capacity to form words right now. I feel the eyes of strangers on me like a thousand tiny bugs crawling over my skin.
Connor notices. He sighs "Let's go," he says nodding toward the car. My eyebrows shoot into my hairline. He can't be serious.
"It's okay, I'm good now. I'll find my way back just fine. Thanks." Not a good idea girl. Shut up, nobody asked you.
Oh, my God! I'm arguing with myself. I really am crazy.
"Uh-uh," Connor says shaking his head at me like he's talking to a disobedient toddler. "Emma said I'm supposed to drive you wherever you need to go." He informs me. Damn you, Emma.
"Well, as you can see," I gesture at myself clearly in one piece. "Emma, obviously, overreacted and I'm fine. So your services are no longer needed."
"You were literally crying on a street corner when I drove up." He says exasperated. His eyebrows scrunch together and it's adorable. Reaching up I touch my face and my fingers come away wet. Well, would you look at that? No wonder he looked so stressed when he showed up.
"Get in the car." He commands jerking his thumb toward the electric blue beast behind him. I peek around his broad frame.
"No, I don't think I will." I tell him. Shaking my head I meet his molten eyes, and catch the moment they harden like solid steel. The worry slips off his face like shedding a mask. It's replaced by a stern expression that makes him look devastating.
"Get in the car." It's no longer a request.
"No." He crosses his arms over his chest and raises one pale eyebrow at me. I notice for the first time the break in his brow. There's a scar that cuts through it. I wonder how he got it. I wonder if he'd tell me if I asked.
Why would you even want to know? You barely know this guy, you psycho.
"Get in the car before I make you." My entire being responds to that and not in the way I was expecting. Oh.
Oh.
"You wouldn't," it's a gamble. He might. I don't know him well enough to say for sure but it seems like the right thing to say in the moment.
"Please," he tries again. He seems to deflate; his arms uncross and fall to his sides, his shoulders slump and it's that desperate dejected look that does me in. I nod in acquiescence and step toward the car.
His longer legs get him there faster and he's got the passenger door opened for me. I slide into the low seat. It smells of leather, but there's something else; something smoky and lush. I don't recognize it but I find that I don't hate it. The inside is just as futuristic as the outside. I don't know nearly enough about cars to even guess at what half the dials and knobs on the console do.
When Connor is buckled in he looks over at me, probably to make sure I'm not about to fling myself out of his moving car, and nods to himself before starting up the engine. It rumbles to life, my bones shuddering within my body from the force of it. He smirks at me and I'm very suddenly struck by the image of cat playing with its food, and then we're off. I try to focus on everything other than what I'm thinking. The last thing we need is for me to lose it again while I'm sitting in Connors car.
He's driving slower than he did before but it still takes some effort to unstick myself from my seat. "So where are we going?" he asks. Leaning his large shoulder against his door, he drops one hand lazily onto the gear shift and turns his head slightly to look at me. I'm parched.
I swallow, twice, he watches the entire time. "I'm supposed to be at lunch with someone right now." I say then recite the address. One of the few I've memorized. He nods slowly and then turns his attention back on the road.
I sneak periodic glances at him. His body is relaxed in his seat, his fingers idly tapping to the tune from the radio. He's wearing rings. One on the ring finger of his left hand, it's got some kind of crest on it. The other is a band that rests on the thumb of his right hand. They're both silver, they both match his eyes.
His eyes that are darting between the road and my face every few minutes. He reaches up and fiddles with the collar of his black dress shirt. The top button is undone and it exposes more of the strong column of his throat. He swallows and I catalogue the movement. It's fascinating. I look away.
A few seconds later I look back, he runs a hand over his close-cropped hair that's been styled so it falls away from his face. It's so blond, it's almost white. This is unfair. Nobody should look this good. Ever.
We've just got to a part of the city I recognize when he's finally had enough of my ogling. "What's wrong?" he asks, resting his hand on his thigh. He scratches at the material of his black dress pants. I recognize the movement as self-conscious. I do the same thing all the time. Why would he be self-conscious?
"Nothing, why?" I frown. He's not looking at me. I angle my body to face him. Tilting my head so my hair falls over one shoulder I watch as he hesitates.
"You've been side-eyeing me this entire drive," he runs a hand through his hair again. Adjusts the sleeve of his shirt where it's rolled up to his elbows. I stare at his fingers for a second.
"I haven't," liar. You've been staring and now you've been caught. That's embarrassing. "It's just hard to focus on anything when you're sitting there doing that."
"Doing what?" he turns his face toward me with his eyebrows raised in genuine surprise. Well, if you don't know I sure as shit ain't gonna tell you. I don't respond but he keeps staring.
"You know," I make a vague gesture in his general direction. He just keeps looking at me like I've escaped an asylum. "That." I say emphasizing the word as if that's some kind of explanation.
He raises his eyebrow higher and now he's smirking. "Driving?" he asks innocently. Oh, he definitely knows. That ass. That arrogant, conceited ass. I look away, my cheekbones color with embarrassment and he laughs a delighted little sound.
"Shut up." I say petulantly. Crossing my arms over my chest and refusing to look at him. I feel his gaze on my face and I know my skin is growing warmer at the attention. I will not look at him. This is so embarrassing. He's had to rescue me from the side of the road in the middle of a freak out and now I've been caught drooling over him. He must really think I'm a weirdo.
"So, you wanna tell me what happened back there?" his voice is more serious now and when I look back at him both of his hands are gripping the steering wheel tightly. He seems upset and it puts me on my guard.
"It's nothing, don't worry about it." I realize that he really bailed me out of a sticky situation and he deserves some kind of explanation but I just really don't want to see that look in his eyes. The pity. I also, don't want to have to answer the questions that always follow. He surprises me by just nodding his head and saying: "Okay."
Wait. That's it? No pestering, no badgering? No, guilt tripping until I answer his questions? I stare at him, my confusion compounding by the second. Is this guy even real?
I don't have time to figure it out because just then we pull up to a parking spot right in front of the Café which is so rare I'm sure that this is the universe aligning to make this the most awkward encounter of my life. Because right there, not three feet from the front bumper of the car, stands Haider.