Test Drives ✓

iv. acaronar

A / N : Thank you @claudiaoverhere for the cover! It's gorgeous!

Note | this is not the most well thought out book in the world, nor do i plan to waste any of my time editing it. please do the both of us a favor and refrain from telling me how you think certain elements are irrational because i am not asking for your critique and i really can't be bothered with all the negativity in the comments.
DON'T LIKE IT, DON'T READ IT. simple as that.

xx tay

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s c e n e f o u r :

a c a r o n a r

acaronar (v.) • to tenderly pull or draw someone closer ― to hold as for affection, comfort, or warmth; to fondle, to caress; to embrace, to protect

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While I had initially declined his request to teach me ― because of pride issues and the fact I knew how to drive ― Peyton had an injured arm and was in no shape to be driving, meaning I needed to play it as safe as possible. Any extra help at driving wouldn't hurt and would possibly help in my case.

I was always described as a reckless driver, which came from things like barely passing my driver's test on the third time with only one point above the minimum for an approval rating, or when I crashed into the barbecue grill when I was trying to park at the family reunion. Hell, running into Peyton's motorcycle today could've counted as proof enough.

But in actuality, I wasn't reckless ― or at least not completely ― I was just unfocused. Things caught my attention easily, or I couldn't always prioritize correctly and that always led to accidents happening.

But I owed it to Peyton, it was either telling him about why I was trying to text Jake ― a question to which I didn't even know the answer to ― or let him guide me on being more safe when on the road. Not only did he ease up when the proposal was brought forth, but I had run him over because I was lacking skill and knowledge in what he was trying to teach me. I had tied this knot and we became suddenly wrapped up in something so intricate that it couldn't be described.

Because what else would I call it when his hands ran over mine on the wheel, gripping the space above them and guiding the wheel slowly. "You see this yellow line," he asked, his eyes flickering towards the yellow markers on the road. "This is your lane and you need to stay in it."

I wanted to kick him, for he was obviously referring to how I had accidentally drove into the opposite lane for a swift second, the incident that had brought this on. But his hands were warm against mine ― and thankfully clean of blood ― and that was enough to quell the fire in me. It was beyond the fact that I needed to compensate for the raw hand I had dealt him, I just found myself afraid to mess up in front of the Peyton Evers again and again like I had already.

His hands smoothly turned the wheel so that we were in the far right side of our half of the street and a car passed us into the night. "He seems to be hellbent on getting somewhere. Always let impatient assholes like him drive past you."

I nodded, my hands instinctively gripping the wheel tighter. It was in an attempt to keep myself here, as if Peyton's touch, the very touch that was sending my blood searing, was enough to make me disappear.

This arrangement wasn't working out the way it should have. Maybe it could be blamed on his hands on me or how this could easily be something that it wasn't already. Something I didn't want it to be.