Playing with Fire

ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕋𝕨𝕠 | ᴅᴇᴛᴏᴜʀꜱ

— Chuck —

I didn't know what was worse: the fact that I'd somehow gotten roped into planning this damn rally with Carlos or the fact that I'd started to look forward to talking to him every day by the time a month had passed.

Maybe I was losing my mind. This was practically a daily thing for me now, our 'planning committee' hangout sessions, but today was a little different.

We were mapping the rally route today, to finalize it.

Carlos was sprawled out in the passenger seat of his car, flipping through a stack of printed-out maps like we'd time-traveled back to 2005. He'd insisted we needed "a better feel for the terrain," whatever the hell that meant. Said we'd probably lose reception at some point. I didn't argue. Seemed easier to let him do things his way and pick my battles elsewhere.

Also, I was stuck driving his lame-ass, deep green, convertible Mini Cooper.

This car was so not me. I was fucking mortified in this thing. I felt like I should be rolling through a trendy neighborhood, sipping an oat milk latte, and wearing sunglasses bigger than my face.

Instead, I was this beefy, biker dude crammed into this tiny, flashy car that looked like it belonged in some hipster's Instagram feed.

I gripped the wheel tighter, trying not to think about how ridiculous I must look. Every time I hit the gas, it let out this perky little engine roar, like it was excited to be here. I wasn't.

It even had these goofy, oversized headlights that looked like eyes, making it seem like the damn thing was grinning at me, I fucking swear.

Carlos tapped his pen against the map in front of him, eyebrows furrowed.

"So, if we cut through this back road here, we'd avoid most of the highway traffic," he said, tracing a line with his finger.

I glanced over, then back to the road. "Yeah, and hit a bunch of gravel that's gonna kick up dust and piss off everyone riding behind us..."

Carlos shrugged, not missing a beat. "Not if we space out the riders and go slow... You guys afraid of a little dirt?! What's up, Chuck...?"

I grunted. "We're aiming for a charity rally, not a dirt bike race... Keep it smooth and simple. I'm not taking these people on a gravel road, Carlos."

He sighed dramatically, flopping back against the seat with a groan. "Chuck, you're killing me, man... Where's your sense of fun?!"

I rolled my eyes, but a small smirk tugged at the corner of my mouth despite myself. "I left it at home with my glitter and Oreos."

"... Ha, ha," he said dryly, but there was a spark in his eyes. I caught myself staring just a second too long and turned my attention back to the road.

Carlos had this way of getting under my skin, and for some crazy reason... I secretly liked the attention. Maybe that's why I hadn't called it quits yet. I couldn't believe I'd stuck around this long.

We drove in silence for a bit, and I could tell he was still working through the route in his head. His head tilted slightly to the side, the way it always did when he was deep in thought. Not gonna lie, he looked really good in that moment... He'd surprised me today with his outfit: form-fitting tank top, baggy jeans, and the usual jewelry.

When he first pulled up to pick me up, I wasn't sure what to make of it.

This was the most covered up and casually dressed I'd ever seen him.

Was it because we'd be stuck in a car all day? Or was it laundry day? And how many plant tattoos could one guy have?

The curve of his collarbone connecting to the rest of his chest under that tank top was definitely doing something to me. My eyes wandered a little too far before I snapped them back to the road.