Pink Pansies ✺ A Pedro Pascal A.U.

Chapter 11: What Kind of Flavor?

Conversation in the car was sparse but neither one of us seemed to mind. I picked a few songs that played softly in the background and the sound of the windshield wipers filled the silence between us. He was focused intently on the road, driving slowly and cautiously as the rain came down. My attention wandered to him; half focused on absorbing this moment and half focused on my thoughts about what this was.

I had the unnerving tendency to overanalyze, especially when it came to relationships.

Without trying to convince myself otherwise, I acknowledged that I felt safe, and comfortable even around Pedro. I could see the budding of something. That was rare for me given the fact that my recent escapades revolved solely around knowing I was desirable, getting what I wanted, and planning an escape. I knew that the handful of men I had seen before Pedro didn't want anything serious so I wasn't callous, a bit selfish maybe, but it was a dating app. I didn't know what I was doing. I had the same intention going into our first date but something about him changed my mind.

Then, I desperately wanted reassurance that I was the only one he was actively pursuing (a bold move precipitated by a quick consumption of alcohol). I had no idea if he had matched with other people or the level of intimacy he had with them. Throughout the past week or so I had begun to let go of the need to know. I tried to replace it with contentment in the present moment. I wanted to enjoy my time with him without making it so big or complicated in my head. It didn't have to be serious. At least that's what I told myself in his car. I had no clue where my mind would go once our date was over and my imagination could run rampant again.

"Is this what you meant?" Pedro's voice interrupted my thoughts.

We were stopped at a red light and he glanced at me with a sort of furtive smile.

"What?" I asked, readjusting in my seat.

"You're watching me drive." He resolved my confusion, "Weakness for hot men behind the wheel and all that."

"Oh, sorry." I said bashfully.

The car in front of us accelerated as the light turned green. He followed suit and I was glad he couldn't see the tint of rouge in my cheeks.

"I was just lost in thought." I replied, trying to keep my gaze on the road.

"Were you thinking about how hot I look?" He asked cheekily.

The blush deepened. "You wish."

"I wish?" Disbelief in his voice and then, "yeah ok, maybe."

I laughed, "Don't act like you don't know."

"I do know but it doesn't hurt to hear it. Especially from someone like you."

"Mm, sounds a little conceited."

"Not conceited, confident." He was quick to respond and managed to do a good job of balancing his attention between the hazardous conditions of the road and our conversation.

"You said someone like me?"

A comment like that was guaranteed to make me bite because the answer (usually) fed my ego. He brought out the part of me that relished in knowing what others thought of me. At the same time, I refused to let it take the driver's seat. Instead, I was firm in my resolve to maintain control by not giving everything away just because of what was said. My ego wasn't insatiable, it only needed a bite or two.

"Yeah, someone I'm sweet on."

My heart fluttered.

"Ok grandpa," I replied sarcastically, "I'm vaguely familiar with that expression. Please remind me."