Blaine

The van rocked and stopped. As the door slid open, Ashley stumbled in with the frosty air. She immediately threw off the blanket, gave the boys an appraising glance, and, unceremoniously pushing Chase aside, squeezed into the front seat closer to Blaine. “Hey, handsome. I thought I was going to die on this highway,” Ashley playfully ran her finger along Blaine’s shoulder and reached for the dashboard. “Okay, the music sucks, the route is boring. Now I’ll tell you where we’re going. Got it, helmsman?” You watched from the dimly lit back of the van, idly tossing the flash drive with the Pentagon security protocols in your hand, which you’d pulled out of her bag a second ago without even getting up. Your gaze—cold and precise, like a rifle scope aiming at a target from two kilometers away—made Blaine grip the steering wheel tighter. He wasn't looking at you, but you saw the pulse in his neck throb wildly. He loved you to the point of trembling, and this insolent girl was the last thing he wanted to tolerate in your presence right now. “Blaine,” your calm, low voice made Ashley flinch and finally notice you. “We have extra weight in the van. About fifty kilograms of useless noise.” You took a sip of water and looked directly at your guest, showing her her own purse, which you “borrowed” straight from her zipped pocket. “Listen, Ashley. If you touch that driver or my car’s settings again, I’ll check how fast you can run in the snow with a through-and-through wound in your knee.” Blaine, are we going to keep going or should I open the door? Blaine glanced at you in the mirror, a mixture of horror and undisguised admiration flickering in his eyes.