His Paper Heart ✓

•14|His Favorite Color

THE DRIVE WITH GRAY IS SMOOTH, a contrast to what I'm usually used to. My father is not a smooth driver. Every bump and hole he drives over sends us bouncing, our heads hitting the roof of his old pickup truck. I always try to focus on my breathing yet, his driving leaves me nauseous for hours.

This is different. Gray's car has a dry weight to it and it feels like we are floating, letting the air caress my face as I stick my head out of the window, ignoring the almost callous sunbeams. The feeling of excitement began when Gray started the engine of his LaFerrari. The monster rumbled beneath my feet as Gray purposely took his foot off the pedal then on again. The tires spun in place, my heart started pounding like I was about run a race I knew I would win, then there was a tingling sensation in my fingertips and as it spread to my arms and chest and got to my head, I started to tense up with anticipation of him driving out of the parking lot. Finally, he hit the gas pedal. My eyes got bigger as the car pranced down the abandoned street, like the speed of light. I shut my eyes for a few seconds to calm my raging heart, making me want to scream from within.

Now as he accelerates faster and faster by the second, I glance at his classical features, still as hard and as composed as ever. I stick my head out of the window again and release the kraken in my chest in the form of a loud scream. I cheer again, over and over till I feel my voice get caught in my throat. I sit still in the car and inhale sharply with a smile. As I'm started to feel that high, Gray presses the breaks and I jerk forward involuntary towards the dashboard and as I hope to get caught by the seatbelt, I remember I didn't put it on.

My forehead slams into the dashboard and for a moment, there's a blinding pain in my head as I fall back into my seat with a groan.

"I did tell you to put your seatbelt on, honey," Gray says as I rub the spot.

"You did it on purpose, didn't you?"

"No," he whispers, sarcastically. "I'm hungry," he says, stepping out of the car. I follow closely behind him to the truck, my limps are still trembling from that breathtaking ride and my head is still aching.

"Genevieve, how's the family?" the man in the truck, Nathan grins widely.

"Everyone's fine. My mom will come down here and kill you if she doesn't see you at mass next week," I say.

"Don't worry, I'll speak to her. Can I take your order?" Nathan smiles at us. 

"A taco and two chicken, chilli and cheese quesadillas with three packets of hot sauce," Gray says and looks at me. "What will you have, Gigi?"

"Those are all for you? Wow, you're a foodie," I whisper. "I'll have two tacos, one chicken tamale and a burger. No hot sauce please," I say. Gray gives me a blank stare. "Hey, you ordered all that plus hot sauce. I didn't so who's the foodie here?" I snap.

"Still you." he shakes his head. "Can you speed up my taco?"

"Coming right up," Nathan says.

"So tell me about your little sister." I dig my hands in my pants pockets and stand to face Gray. "Does she go to school? Is she staying with a nanny? Does she look like you?"

"Yes. No. No," he answers and I frown.

"I was hoping you would elaborate on all those answers?"

"Keep quiet. I'm concentrating on my food," he whispers.

"Why do you refuse to tell me about your life? You practically know everything about me so why can't you tell me what I want to know?" 

"I don't know everything about you. I don't know your favorite color, favorite food, favorite song. I don't know what keeps you up at night. I don't know your fears or your insecurities so no, I don't know everything about you. Though, if I were to guess, your favorite color is blue. I see the way you look at the sky," he explains.