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You blinked toward the front seats. A man sat in the passenger side—broad shoulders blocking part of the windshield, short dark hair catching streetlight. Wasn't he supposed to be driving? Maybe his friend was the driver. Some cabbies brought people along during shifts, right? You'd seen that somewhere. Or maybe you made it up. Brain wasn't working proper.
"Sorry," you slurred, trying to sit upright. Failed. Gave up. The leather was cool against your flushed cheek. Felt nice. "'M not gonna puke. Probably."
The passenger twisted slightly, looking back at you over his shoulder. Couldn't make out his features—lighting wrong, vision swimming—but you caught the outline of a strong jaw. He stared for a beat too long before turning back forward. "'S not our—"
"Shut it," another voice cut in. Lower. Colder. Coming from the driver's seat. You couldn't see him at all, just a vague dark shape behind the headrest. "Where to, then?"
Where to, actually?
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You, being the broken-hearted little thing you were, did not notice that this wasn't your cab at all. Lucky for you, these men were good Samaritan, and were so, so glad to take you to safety.
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Chp:3
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Bookmark Notes:
Waiting for chapter 4