"Are you OK?" Zoe asks, eyeing Wade with obvious concern, as the two barrel down the interstate, in his beat-up old car.
Ever since Wade agreed to take Zoe to the airport for Thanksgiving weekend, he's been acting decidedly un-Wade-like. For example, right now, the typically, almost frustratingly, laidback bartender is gripping the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles are turning white. He also hasn't uttered a single word, since they started their trip.
Once, Zoe even shamelessly tried to provoke him, by tuning the radio to a station that played nothing but cheesy 90's music, and singing Britney Spears' "Hit Me Baby One More Time," at the top of her lungs, completely off-key. But it was to no avail. Wade's mind was obviously elsewhere . . .
"Yeah . . . I'm fine," he finally manages to utter, his eyes darting back and forth uncomfortably. "Totally fine. Why? DidLavon say something to you?" He asks nervously, with just a hint of telltale accusation in his voice.
Zoe turns toward Wade, her eyes narrowed, and her brow furrowed in confusion. "Noooo . . . should Lavon have said something to me?"
"What? No . . . of course not," Wade insists indignantly. "Because there's nothing to say. . . . because I'm fine. Everything's fine."
Zoe shakes her head doubtfully. "Ohhhh-Kaaay. You're fine. Forget I asked."
Getaholdofyourself. Wade chastises himself angrily, as Zoe removes a tube of lipstick from her pocketbook, and begins applying it in the rearview mirror. Man,shelooksbeautiful,whenshedoesthat...He thinks, licking his own lips involuntarily.
Wade doesn't understand why this is suddenly so difficult for him. After all, it's far from the first time he's asked out a girl. And Zoe - the same woman who drunkenly ravaged him in his car, shortly after she moved to Bluebell - is definitely not a stranger to him, at this point. Still, there is something about Zoe Hart that makes her entirely different from the girls Wade usually dates.
She is smart, sophisticated, and, sometimes, utterlymaddening. Zoe has this uncanny way of singlehandedly transforming Wade from a cocky bartender into a sweaty-palmed school boy, suffering from a bad case of puppy love. And he hates, and loves her for it, at the same time.
Isthatit?AmIinlovewithher?Isthatwhat'sturningmeintoatotaljackass? He wonders, as small droplets of sweat begin to form on the back of his neck, and drip tauntingly down his back. The sensation reminds him that he never got the air conditioner fixed in his car, like he'd specifically promised himself he would do, before the holiday season began.
Wade sees the sign up ahead, informing him that the airport is a mere five miles away. He knows he has to act now, or risk completely losing his nerve. Impulsively, he cuts the wheel to the right, sending his car abruptly off-road. Instinctively, Zoe puts one hand on the passenger side window, and the other on Wade's thigh, as she braces for impact. The unexpected warmth of her fingertips on his leg sends chills up Wade's spine.
"What happened? Did we hit something . . . or someone?" Zoe asks, immediately switching into doctor mode.
Wade puts the car into park, and turns off the engine, "No," he says firmly. "We didn't hit anything."
Zoe breathes a sigh of relief at this, but her medical mind is still working over time, trying to logically assess the situation. "Well, are you OK? Do you feel faint? Are you experiencing a tingling sensation in your arm, or pain in your chest? Are you short of breath at all? Maybe you're having a heart attack."
Wade suddenly smirks at the ridiculousness of the situation. "No, Zoe, I'm not having a heart attack."
"Oh . . . well then . . . why the helldid you almost give mea heart attack, when I have a plane to catch inlessthananhour?" Zoe insists, her entire body posture changing from "concerned doctor," to "annoyed passenger," in under five seconds.
Wade takes a deep breath. Heregoesnothing. He thinks to himself, as he opens his mouth to speak. "Zoe . . . you drive me crazy, sometimes. I mean, you can just be so stubborn . . . and shrill . . . and uptight . . . like a chihuahua, or a poodle. But . . . I don't know . . . I can't stop thinking about you. So, I was wondering, if . . . uh . . . when you got back from New York, if maybe . . . um . . . you'd want to go out sometime, with me . . . like . . . on a date?"
Zoe's mouth drops open, unable to believe what she just heard. "So, let me get this straight. You think I'm a tight ass, and a dog. But you want to go out with me, anyway . . . because you've been thinking about me?"
Wade looks over at Zoe thoughtfully. "Yeah! I mean . . . no . . . that didn't come out right . . . Let me . . ."
Zoe clenches her fists in her lap. "Um . . . I'm going to do us both a big favor, and forget how you just laid on me the most insulting pickup line I've ever heard."
Wade winces, feeling as though he's just been punched in the gut. "OK . . . sure . . . I understand. That's probably for the best. Sorry, for weirding you out," he says sadly, as he puts the key back into the ignition, and eases his car back on the road.
They drive in silence for another minute. Then, suddenly, Zoe is reaching across the steering wheel, and violently cutting the car to the right, sending them off road again. Caught completely off guard by the maneuver, Wade breaks violently, causing Zoe's body to press tightly up against his own, as the car bumps and toggles to a stop on the grass.
"What did you do that for?" Wade asks, astonished, and more than a bit peeved. "You could have gotten us both killed, DoctorHart."
"Well . . . you got to tell me everything that was wrong with me. So, now you're going to sit there and listen, while I tell you everything that's wrong with you," Zoe lectures petulantly.
"I guess that's fair," mumbles Wade, sinking lower into his seat, like a child who's just been grounded.
"I may be uptight . . . and shrill . . . and maybe even ever so slighty poodle-esque, but you . . . you are crass, and immature, and unkempt . . . and just . . . really annoying sometimes . . . You think that because you're hot and . . ."
"You think, I'm hot?" Wade interrupts with a wink.
"That is notthe point . . . the point is that you are a jerk. You have no right to insult me like that! And even if I thought, for a second . . . in one of my weaker moments, about dating you . . . you have officially killed any chance of that ever happening."
At this point, Wade is blatantly and unabashedly smirking, which only serves to make Zoe madder. "Are you finished?" He asks pointedly.
"NO!" Zoe exclaims vehemently, before lapsing into frustrated silence.
Then, just a few seconds later, she mutters reluctantly, "Yes."
"OK, then," says Wade, as he puts the car back on the road, and begins driving again.
They are right in front of the exit to the airport, when Wade cuts the wheel for a third time, and abruptly turns off the engine.
"WHAT NOW?" Zoe screams.
But before she can finish her statement, Wade's lips are pressed against hers, and his hands are tangled in her long raven hair. Zoe is caught completely off guard, when a low moan escapes from her mouth. Her hands begin crawling up Wade's t-shirt, greedily exploring the contours of his perfectly muscled chest. She's kissing him back now, high on the feeling of his body pressed up against hers, and the soapy, musky, scent of his skin.
She knows she's being completely irrational right now, and maybe even a little bit slutty. And yet, nothing has ever felt as right to her, as this very moment.
"Oh god, Zoe," Wade gasps, as she moves between him and the steering wheel, and begins to kiss his neck amorously . . . her long hair, brushing against either side of her face, as their hips meet.
The sound of a car horn breaks the spell. Then Zoe, with an accusing glance at the offending steering wheel, shyly settles back into the passenger seat.
"Umm . . . yeah. Soooo . . . thathappened," she says, self-consciously tugging her shirt back down, and smoothing out her hair.
"It did," replies Wade awkwardly.
"We should probably go to the airport now. You know . . . so, I don't . . . miss my flight," she adds, studiously avoiding his eye contact, as she feels her face redden from a mixture of embarrassment and exertion.
"Good idea," replies Wade, starting the car, and easing it back onto the road for a third, and final, time.
ThanksLavon.He thinks to himself, grinning from ear-to-ear, as he pulls into the airport parking lot.