Dear Rosie, (Love Letters #2)

Other than wanting to feel less guilty about the tip, I don’t care how much money Nathan has. His richness doesn’t affect me. But there’s something about knowing he’s super rich but still takes an Uber like everyone else that makes me smile. Even if it is one of the big fancy Ubers.

He catches me smiling. “What’s that look for?”

I shake my head. “Nothing.”

“The BCH building?” The driver looks back at us through the rearview mirror.

“That’s the one,” Nathan replies.

The driver nods, then pulls away from the curb.

Nathan slides closer to me on the bench seat.

He twists and reaches for me, and I close my eyes, expecting a kiss.

Then I hear the sound of nylon against plastic.

I open my eyes as Nathan pulls the seat belt across my body.

He uses one hand to hold the belt away from my body, but when metal meets metal and he clips the buckle in, he lowers the strap, and his fingers graze my chest.

“Safety first.” His voice is quiet, and I have to focus on holding his gaze.

My eyes want to drop to his lap.

I want to look for the bulge of what I know is hidden beneath his pants. Because when he said safety, I thought condom.

And I’ll blame my recklessness on the booze because I don’t want him to wear one.

I don’t want to put safety first. I’m already on the pill. And if we’re going to have our night together, I don’t want to have anything between us.

I lose the fight, and my gaze drops.

Nathan makes a clicking sound with his tongue. “Dirty girl.” He says it like he knows exactly what I’m thinking.

Then he slides back across the seat and buckles himself in.

I reach up and aim the air vent in the ceiling toward my face.

Nathan chuckles, but then he does the same thing.

FIFTY-FOUR

NATE

I watch the screen of the driver’s phone that’s mounted to the dashboard.

Seven minutes.

Five minutes.

Four.

Rosie is silent next to me, watching the city pass through her window as we head into downtown St. Paul.

Three minutes until I have Rosie in my building.

Two.