“What if it’s a girl who drives it?” he asks.
“No girl would drive something that big. It’s not practical.” I hit the unlock button and shimmy between the Hummer and my car. Of course I have to become the least graceful person on the face of the Earth and bang my head on the Hummer’s side mirror, dropping my keys in the process.
“I got them.” Lance swoops into the confined space and bends to retrieve them. I just need to get out of here so I can stop acting like an idiot in front of him. I rub my head, checking for a bump.
“Are you okay?” Instead of handing me my keys, he shoves them in his pocket.
“I’m fine.”
“Let me have a look.”
“Seriously. I’m just clumsy.”
He ignores me and turns me around. “Whereabouts you hit your head?”
I rub the small lump forming at the back. Lance shifts my ponytail out of the way and slides his fingers under my hair, beside mine. I’m glad I washed it this morning, otherwise it would be a greasy mess.
“There’s a bump. I think you should probably sue whoever owns this asshole ride.” Lance knocks on the passenger side door. “Should we leave a note?”
“Stop making fun of me.”
“I’m totally serious. What if you have a concussion?”
“Can I have my keys now?”
“Concussions are dangerous business.”
I hold my hand out.
He shrugs. “Suit yourself, but if you end up with memory loss, you can’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“Well, I won’t remember anyway if that happens, will I?”
“I guess not.” Instead of dangling the keys from his finger, Lance’s places them in my palm.
I’m positive I stop breathing. I look down to where his hand molds to mine, and then up to his face. God. His expression is intense. He drops the keys into my palm and closes my fingers around them, covering them with his other hand.
“I should know you.” He looks so forlorn.
It reminds me of when I was just a girl with a silly crush.
I’d wanted him to remember me when I saw him in that bar last year, to be the same honest, kind boy I’d met all those years ago. When we’d been invited back to his house that night, part of me had still hoped he’d remember me. But he didn’t.
I feel like I’m melting inside, and a rush of emotions makes me want to tell him he does know me, but I tamp that down, biting back words that will probably cause me more trouble than good.
My phone buzzes in my purse, and he expels a sharp breath, retracting his hands. He reaches for the handle and stands there a moment before he says, “Thanks for taking care of me today.”
As he opens the door for me I mumble, “You’re welcome.”
I don’t know how else to respond. I feel like his words are loaded, and I’m suddenly terrified of the mistake I’ve made in giving him my number.
Because now I’m not sure what’s going to be worse: him finally remembering who I am and how we know each other, or me realizing I never left enough of an impact to warrant being remembered at all.
CHAPTER 7
COMPENSATING
POPPY
Lance closes the door and taps the roof of my car. The Hummer beside my Mini beeps. I look around excitedly, expecting a paunchy bald guy to appear out of nowhere. That’s not what happens.
Lance rounds the front of the vehicle, waving and grinning sheepishly. I drop my head and give it a shake. Of course I insulted his choice of vehicle—well, him, actually.
I start my car, but the sound of my engine is drowned out by the Hummer revving to life. The thing is a beast. Lance’s passenger window rolls down, and his face appears in the dark space.
He waits until I do the same before yelling over the rumble of his engine. “I swear I’m not compensating.”
“Suuure,” I reply. “I’d tell you to drive safe, but since you have a tank…” I shift into gear and pull out, waving again as I pass him.
I think he waves back, but his windows are tinted, and all I can see is light reflected off the windshield. Lance follows behind me and turns in the same direction I do. He leaves lots of space between us, maybe respecting the fact that he could drive over my car if he were impatient enough. My little Mini looks like something his vehicle expelled from the exhaust pipe.
My phone keeps buzzing in my purse. It’s likely April, since we’re supposed to meet up and I’m way later than I thought I’d be. Part of me wants to talk to her about Lance, and the other part—the part that remembers exactly what it was like to get burned by him last year—doesn’t want to rehash that experience any more. I’ve already done it once today. For an hour. While I massaged his glutes.
I rummage through my purse when I come to a stoplight, digging out my phone. Before I can check my messages, a honk comes from my right. It startles me, and my phone lands on the floor of the passenger side, bouncing out of reach. I look over to find Lance’s Hummer beside me, his window down again.
Mine descends with a whir.
He revs his engine. “Wanna race?”
I laugh. “Pretty sure your car can eat my car for breakfast.”
“Maybe more of a light snack.” He winks and throws a handful of what appears to be candy in his mouth, then tosses the package on the dash. It looks like gummy bears. The light turns. Lance lifts his hand in a wave and puts his foot on the gas, proving me right as he speeds away while I obey the posted speed limit. I drive home and park in front of my row house. The pub is only a ten-minute walk, and it’s a nice evening. Besides, I need the time to clear my head.
April’s in a booth close to the pool tables. I feel bad about being so late, especially since she’s alone. She looks up as I slide onto the bench across from her.
“What took you so long?”
“Lance stopped by to pick up his phone.” I try to sound nonchalant, but I’m sure I fail based on how high my voice goes at the end.
“Oh my God! What happened? What did he say? Did you explain the picture?” April looks like she’s going to pass out. “Did he ask you out? Was I right about him leaving it there on purpose?”
I raise a hand to stop her. “You need to stop chugging Red Bull.”
“I still need that firm ass report.”
“It’s solid as a rock.” I look around, seeking out the server so I can place an order. I’m starving, and I’ll do just about anything to get out of answering questions about Lance’s assets.
A waitress stops at the table, so I order a Shirley Temple and some sweet potato fries. Fiber makes them healthier than the regular ones.
“You’re not even going to have a real drink?”
“I have to be back at the clinic at eight tomorrow morning.” I’m also concerned that if I order something with alcohol, I might not stop at one. This whole thing has me discombobulated enough that getting tipsy doesn’t seem like such a bad idea. Which is exactly why I won’t do it. Alcohol isn’t a coping mechanism I like to use. Sweet potato fries, on the other hand…
“What about a white Russian? It’s like drinking chocolate milk.”
“Really, I’m good.”
“Suit yourself. Go wild and drink from the kids menu. Anyway, back to Lance. What happened when he came back? What did he say? What’s he like? Do you think all the rumors are true?”
“Seriously, April, how much Red Bull did you drink today?”
“None. Just a lot of coffee. Come on, Poppy, you had your hands all over one of the hottest, most notorious hockey players in the league. You need to share that experience with me.”
“It was just a massage.” I wish I had my Shirley Temple already so I could do something with my hands.
“If it was just a massage, why is your face the color of your name?” April asks. “Oh! Did he remember you from when you went to school together? Did you get his autograph?”
“I didn’t get his autograph.”
The waitress drops off my drink.
“Did he remember you?”