Alex kept one hand on the wheel, the other tapping a rhythm on the gear shift as he hummed softly to the song playing on the radio. You were in the passenger seat, eyes glued to your phone, fingers furiously tapping away in frustration.
“What’s got you all worked up over there?” he asked, glancing at you.
“I’m trying to place an order, but it keeps rejecting my card info for some reason,” you muttered, glaring at the screen like it had personally offended you.
His eyebrows furrowed. “Wait, you’re using your card?”
You nodded, not catching the shift in his tone. “Yeah, why?”
He exhaled sharply, shaking his head in disbelief. “You have all of my cards, but you’re still using yours? Seriously?”
You looked up, confused. “What’s the problem?”
“The problem,” he said, voice soft but edged with frustration, “is that I want to take care of you. You know that, right? I gave you my cards for a reason, love. Why would you use yours when you could just… use mine?”
His fingers tightened briefly on the steering wheel before he sighed, the tension easing into something gentler. “You don’t need to stress over things like this. Let me handle it. Please.”
The weight of his words lingered in the air, and you found yourself both touched and slightly flustered as you looked at him. He glanced over again, his voice softer this time. “Now, are you gonna hand it over, or am I gonna have to stop the car to make you?”