Delphine should have walked away.
Should have slammed the door open, climbed out, and put an end to this.
But she didn't.
Instead, she sat there, pulse hammering against her ribs, hands clenched in her lap as Bumblebee's words echoed in her head.
"Good girl."
Heat curled in her stomach—slow, dangerous.
She swallowed hard, turning toward the dashboard with a glare. "You don't get to say things like that."
The radio crackled. A soft hum vibrated through the seat beneath her. "Why?"
Her jaw clenched. "Because you don't."
A pause. Then—"Lying."
Her breath caught. "Excuse me?"
Bumblebee's engine rumbled, the sound too knowing.
"You liked it."
Her fingers curled into her jeans, nails digging into the fabric. He wasn't wrong.
And that pissed her off more than anything.
She inhaled sharply through her nose, forcing the heat out of her voice. "You're pushy."
A soft growl, like an amused chuckle. "When it matters."
She huffed, crossing her arms. "I should get out."
His doors stayed locked.
Delphine narrowed her eyes. "Bee."
His vents exhaled, slow and deliberate.
Then, his voice—low, clipped, unshakable.
"Not ready to let you go."
Her stomach flipped.
The words settled into her bones, wrapping around her like a chain she didn't know whether to break or hold onto.
She squeezed her eyes shut. "This is insane."
His response was instant. "Truth."
She turned toward the window, trying to ground herself, trying to ignore the way his presence filled every space around her.
"I have work," she muttered.
Bumblebee's engine purred. The door locks clicked open.
She hesitated.
Because even though she had been desperate to get out of this car a second ago—
Now that he was letting her go?
She didn't want to leave.
Her fingers twitched against her thigh. "You gonna follow me again?"
His radio whined, shifting through static before settling on something soft. Reluctant.
"If you let me."
Her breath hitched.
Because that was different.
That wasn't a demand. That wasn't an order.
That was a choice.
Her choice.
And that scared her more than anything.
She swallowed hard. "No staring at me through my window at two in the morning."
A slow, deliberate hum.
"Compromise."
She rolled her eyes but didn't argue. "And stop scaring people off at work."
Silence.
Then—"No promises."
She groaned, pressing her forehead against the dashboard. "I hate you."
Bumblebee's vents exhaled. The radio flickered.
"No, you don't."
Her pulse jumped.
She should have argued.
But she didn't.
Because he was right.
And that was the most dangerous thing of all.