Joe didn’t answer.
I realized Joe wasn’t much of a conversationalist at about the same time I realized the truck was nice. It was clearly top of the line with all the bells and whistles and he took care of it. It wasn’t just shiny on the outside but the inside was clean and looked brand new. The ride was quiet and smooth and Joe drove the big truck like he was born behind the wheel of a pickup.
As he drove silently, I was again reminded how nice it was just to sit back and let someone drive me home. There was no particular reason I was having this feeling since, not but a few hours earlier, Colt and Feb took me to J&J’s. And Tim always drove, I couldn’t remember a time when we went somewhere when he wasn’t at the wheel. This never bothered me, I didn’t care if he drove, it only bothered me when he wasn’t around to do it anymore but, after nearly a year and a half, I’d gotten used to it. Now I realized I missed it.
I was so deep in these thoughts I didn’t notice that we were on our street until Joe turned into his drive and something new hit me. Like being in the truck with him, the sensation was strong, it was scary and it was thrilling. After seeing this truck in his drive on and off for months, even before knowing Joe, but definitely after, and now sitting in his truck, in his drive, staring at his house through the windshield, a vantage point I never thought I’d have, I felt something I didn’t understand. There was something profound about it, something I couldn’t put my finger on but, for some weird reason, it felt life-altering.
I jumped when Joe’s door slammed and I found myself nervous. I turned and fumbled with my buckle, getting it released only when Joe pulled open my door. I hitched my purse up my shoulder and hopped out of the truck. Joe had his hand on the door so I moved out of the way, he threw it to and I looked at him to give him my thanks again for the ride but he was moving.
I stood there for several beats as I watched his big body walk across the yard toward my house.
Even though I lived next door, in Joe Callahan style, he was going to walk me safely home.
I didn’t know what to feel about this but had no time to figure it out and no choice but to follow him, pulling my purse from my arm and digging through it to get my keys as I walked. I had my keys in hand, the correct one between my fingers and Joe was standing in the light I’d turned on by the side door when I arrived. I stopped, Joe took the keys from my hand and he slid the key into the lock, turned it, slid it out and opened the door.
I swallowed nervously as the beeps went for the alarm. Moving just beyond him, I twisted my torso into the house, punched in the code and the beeping stopped. I took a deep breath, pulled my torso out of the house, turned and tipped my head back to look at him.
In the outside light, the night shrouding us, he looked sinister again just as much as he looked rugged and interesting and something new assailed me. It was that fear, that thrill but there was something else. Something insistent, needy, like a hunger I didn’t quite understand and my mouth went dry at the power of it.
“Thanks for the ride,” I whispered, unable to speak any louder.
Joe didn’t respond nor did he move.
I didn’t know what to do. I had thought he was eager to get home but he had his opportunity to escape and he was just standing there, staring at me in that way of his, something working behind his eyes.
Then I realized that I was being rude.
“Would you like to come in…?” I hesitated then finished, “for a drink or something?”
At first, Joe didn’t reply.
Then he said softly, his tone strange, like he was talking to himself even though I was right there, “You already think I’m a dick.”
I felt my heart beat faster and I whispered, “Joe –”
Joe cut me off. “So, don’t matter tomorrow morning you still think I’m a dick, ‘cause now, even though you’re drunk, I’m gonna take you inside and fuck you ‘til you ache.”
My heart stopped beating and my breath stopped coming which was bad, considering Joe grabbed my hand and pulled me into my house. He stopped to close and lock the door then he tossed my keys on the counter, pulled my purse off my arm and tossed that on the counter too then he dragged me through the kitchen, the dining area, the open study and straight to my bedroom.
I didn’t struggle. I didn’t do anything even when he stopped in my room, let my hand go and shrugged off his leather jacket, letting it drop to the floor. Then his hands came to my little corduroy jacket and he pulled it down my arms.