“
You good?”
“Yeah. Okay. Good.”
“Now, I’m going to be right here to tell you what to do, and I’ll help you steer if you start running us off the road.”
I revved the gas pedal and then placed her foot on it and let her do the same. I could tell she was trying not to bail off of my lap—her body was practically vibrating with nerves—but she didn’t. She stayed, listening intently. I gave her basic instructions, and then I helped her ease onto the road, going about five miles per hour. She didn’t move her hands from two and ten o’clock, and I had to tug at the wheel slightly to straighten us out. And then we picked up speed, just a bit.
“How does that feel?”
“Like falling,” she whispered, her body rigid, her arms locked on the wheel.
“Relax. Falling is easier if you don’t fight it.”
“And driving?”
“That too. Everything is easier if you don’t fight it.”
“What if someone sees us?”
“Then I’ll tell you when to wave."
She giggled and relaxed slightly against me. I kissed her temple where it rested against my cheek, and she was immediately stiff as a board once more.
Shit. I hadn’t thought. I’d just reacted.
“I would have patted you on the back, but your forehead was closer,” I drawled. “You’re doin’ it. You’re drivin’.”
“How fast are we going?” she said breathlessly. I hoped it was fear and not that kiss.
“Oh you’re flyin’, baby. Eight miles an hour. At this rate, we will reach Salt Lake in two days, my legs will be numb, and Henry will want a turn. Give it a little gas. Let’s see if we can push it up to ten.”
She pressed her foot down suddenly and we shot forward with a lurch.
“Whoa!” I cried, my arms shooting up to brace hers on the wheel. I saw Henry stir from the corner of my eye.
“Danika Patrick is the first female NASCAR driver to ever win a NASCAR Sprint Cup Series pole,” he said woodenly, before slumping back down in his seat. I spared him a quick glance, only to see his eyes were closed once more.
Millie obviously heard him and she hooted and pressed the gas pedal down a little harder.
“Henry just compared you to Danika Patrick. And he obviously isn’t alarmed that you’re driving because he’s already asleep again.”
“That’s because Henry knows I’m badass.”
“Oh yeah. Badass, Silly Millie. ‘Goin’ ninety miles an hour down a dead-end street,’” I sang a little Bob Dylan, enjoying myself thoroughly.
”
”