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“Slow down, Lydia, Jesus Christ,” Stiles exclaimed as Lydia rounded another corner, her lips pressed tightly together. He reached out and grabbed her hand where it rested on the gear shift. “Chill out. We don’t have to kill ourselves getting there.”
“They need our help, Stiles,” Lydia snapped. Stiles hurled his hands up in the air.
“We won’t be any good to them dead,” Stiles argued. Lydia braked suddenly, bringing them to an abrupt stop and throwing the car into park. “Okay, what’re you doing?”
“No rush, right?” Lydia repeated mockingly. Stiles rolled his eyes.
“Okay, hilarious. You can drive however you want,” Stiles allowed. Lydia’s eyebrows raised.
“Oh, can I? Thank you very much, sir, I’m glad I got your permission,” Lydia replied, pushing the car back into drive. Stiles stopped her hand with his, his fingers closing over hers.
“You know I didn’t mean it that way,” Stiles told her, sliding the shift back to park. She sighed.
“Yeah, I know.”
“And I love you.”
She turned to smile at him, just a little bit. “I know that, too.”
He leaned over the console to kiss the corner of her mouth. She reached up and guided their mouths together.
“I’m going to drive now,” she murmured against his lips, and he nodded. “If I go under seventy, I’m going to scream, and you’re going to be the one that dies.”
“Understood,” Stiles answered. Lydia pulled back, beamed at him, and threw the car into drive again.