(Michelle POV — The Ride Home)
Steven drove smoothly — too smoothly, in fact — like the road parted for him out of fear or respect.
The city lights slid past the window in soft streaks, and the heater hummed gently, filling the silence with a cozy warmth that made me feel…
Dangerously comfortable.
Which, honestly, should have been illegal around someone I liked this much.
His profile was calm. Focused. Serious.
But not cold the way he was with everyone else.
With me, Steven had… textures.
He had softness.
Care.
Gentle edges — like someone had taken a precise blade to the sharpness of him and sanded it down until only warmth remained.
The faint scent of his cologne lingered in the car, clean and subtle, and I hated how much my body recognized it. How it relaxed me. How it made my brain go treasonously quiet.
And now that we were alone again, the atmosphere felt warm and still — the kind of quiet that made stupid thoughts slip out if I wasn't careful.
Which was a problem.
