Davina's POV
I still couldn't wrap my head around the fact that I'd actually said yes.
Here I was, sitting rigid in Irvin Jenkin's car, my hands clenched so tight in my lap they might as well have been glued there. I didn't trust them—didn't trust myself not to do something monumentally stupid like reaching for him, smacking him... or God forbid, clinging to him like some desperate fool.
The silence was suffocating. No radio. No meaningless small talk.
Just the engine's steady purr and the occasional whisper of wind hitting glass.
I could feel Irvin stealing glances at me. Every look burned against my skin like a spotlight I couldn't escape. The space between us felt both too much and not nearly enough. I kept my eyes glued to the windshield, jaw clenched, desperately trying to figure out what the hell I'd just gotten myself into.
I was actually going to his place.
The same bastard who used to torment me for sport, who got his kicks from watching me squirm.
