The Rider

Chapter 9

"We need to stop by my house so I can change," Dylan said, turning to look at me.

"Why? What's wrong with the clothes your wearing right now?" I asked, looking at him for a split second before redirecting my eyes to the road.

He raised his eyebrows and motioned to his clothes. "I don't what to get my good clothes dirty. My mother would kill me."

You should have just packed a bag, like I did. Preparation points go to me and me only.

I glanced at his clothes. He was wearing a pair of black cargo shorts, a gray v-neck t-shirt, a pair of black high tops, and a black and white "OBEY" snapback, which was placed backwards on his head, his chocolate locks spiked out from beneath it. It definitely suited him. His shirt was loose, but not loose enough to hide his muscles from peeping out. I think he had a six pack. I would ask him, but that would be a little odd. Think about it. Hey, can you like, lift your shirt so I can see if you have a six-pack? Like I would ever ask that, even though I want to. His other muscles were also prominent. His tan arms sported a pair of lovely, large biceps which flexed every time he moved, his legs contained pure muscle, and his jaw muscles could be seen whenever he clenched his jaw slightly. Someone spends a lot of time at the gym.

"Well, I don't really know where you live, so that might be a problem," I pointed out, tearing my eyes away from the wonderful view. Why does he have to be so attractive? If he didn't have such a cocky attitude, I might consider having a crush on him, but no, his attitude ruins it all. Not to mention the fact that he pesters me every single second of every single day. He's more like an annoying brother.

"That's okay, I know the way. Here, pull over."

I shoot him a confused look. Pull over? Why? Does he have to go to the bathroom and can't hold it? I don't need to see that. No thank you. Nevertheless, I obey his orders and pull over on the median.

"Get out," he commands.

"Excuse me?"

"Sorry, sorry. Get out please."

Are you kidding me?

"No."

"Listen, you don't know the way to my house, and I do. I can drive us to my house without the confusion of me trying to give you directions."

"Just give me directions then. I don't trust you with my car. You drive like a maniac that's high on weed."

"I'm not that bad! I just don't like waiting on red lights."

Sure, you can drive my car. Everyone hates red lights. It's not like they're there for a reason. Oh wait, yes they are. THEY'RE TO PREVENT WRECKS.

"That is the stupidest reason I have ever heard."

"Please? What if I promise that I'll stop at red lights?"

"And drive the speed limit."

"Ten miles over."

"Five miles over."

"Fine, you're such a goody two shoes," he states, rolling his eyes.

I roll my eyes at him and mutter, "No, I just don't have a death wish."

"Whatever princess."
~•~

Dylan pulls up smoothly into his driveway, while my hands are still clutching the armrests. Dylan drove less like a maniac that's high on weed, but he didn't stop at any stop signs, which about gave me a heart attack when a car almost plowed into us. I had screamed my head off and almost strangled him, while he had laughed at my scared face.