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“Mel,” Frank said softly, “can I tell you something?”
“Yes,” Mel replied, even softer, her gaze flicking back and forth from one eye to the other. “You can tell me anything.”
A dark look shadowed his face for a second before he leaned back in his seat, braced his hands against the steering wheel until his arms were completely straight, and blew a raspberry.
Then he exhaled roughly - similar to the raspberry, but without so much involvement of the lips. “You can’t judge,” he told her then, glancing in her direction. “Okay?”
She was resisting the urge to start twirling her butterfly ring around her finger. “Just tell me, Frank,” she said, “you’re making me nervous.”
“I’m trying, I’m trying. Not to make you nervous, I’m trying to tell you. That…” He looked away from her again, back out the car window, and clenched his fists around the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. Then he dropped his hands in his lap. “I had a sex dream the other night,” he told her, with a weird sense of finality. “About you.”
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Tensión so thick you could bite through it.