We edge forward to the next window, and while we’re waiting behind the car currently being served, he stares at me with a sort of perplexed expression.
“I hate junk food, if that’s what you’re wondering,” I say, which is partially false. It’s not the food I hate: it’s the effects.
He rolls his eyes as we pull up to the final window to collect our bag of food and our drinks, and he passes them over to me to hold while he merges back out onto the boulevard. “You’re telling me you hate that spicy chicken sandwich in there with French fries that are quite literally the best things you will ever taste in your entire life?”
“Yes,” I answer shortly. “Yes, I hate that terrible spicy chicken sandwich with those awful fries.”
“You haven’t even tried them before.” He shakes his head in dismay as he chuckles, and then he reaches into the bag and fumbles around for a few long seconds to grab his fries while trying to keep his eyes on the road at the same time. When he finds them, he sets them down in the center console and tosses one into his mouth. “Want one? They’re good.”
“Nope, I need to try out this Chick-fil-A salad and see if it beats Portland’s corner shop salads,” I muse casually, smirking at him as I pull out the small tray and tear off the plastic. “Definitely looks alright.”
Jake stuffs some more fries into his mouth. “You’re missing out.”
“On heart disease?” I ask. “Good.”
He stops chewing to glance at me with a defeated smile on his lips. He nods in surrender.
We head back to Santa Monica—it’s getting late—and I devour my salad on the way while Jake finishes up his sandwich, somehow managing not to crash in the process. We take the freeway as the sun sets around us, and the traffic, despite how much I hate it, looks really beautiful at dusk. The music is loud but not too loud, easy for us to talk over and simple to ignore when his mainstream music taste grows unbearable to listen to. The journey is much smoother than it was three hours ago with Tyler.
“You’re staying at his place, right?” Jake asks once we’re back in the city.
I snap out of the trance I’ve found myself in. “Whose place?”
“Tyler’s,” he says. “That’s where I’m taking you to, right?”
“Oh,” I say. “Yeah. I don’t know why he got all up in your face earlier.”
“Because he’s an ass—” He cuts himself short, clearing his throat. “I probably shouldn’t put him on blast in front of his sister.”
“Actually,” I say, “I agree with what you were just about to say.”
He studies me for a long moment, as though he can’t figure out if I’m being sarcastic or not, and he eventually decides that I’m being totally serious. “I didn’t expect that.”
I shrug. “Me either. I didn’t expect to hate my stepbrother.”
He doesn’t reply, mostly because I think he doesn’t know how to, and so we spend the five-minute ride to Deidre Avenue in silence, except for his crappy music. All of the lights in the house are on when we pull up outside.
“Thanks for getting me off that mountain and taking me home,” I say once he turns down the music and shuts off the engine. “And thanks for the food.”
“No problem, but now can I get your number so I can take you out?” He gives me a playful yet determined smile, his eyes sparkling. “And I promise it won’t involve French fries from Chick-fil-A next time.”
“Well, you did buy me that salad,” I murmur, having a mock debate with myself, teasing him a little as I drag out his wait for an answer. “So I suppose I can give you my number.”
His face lights up as he clenches his hand and fist-bumps the steering wheel. “Yessssss. What are those digits, girl?” With his other hand, he fishes his phone out of his pocket and hands it to me, and I enter my number.
By now my cheeks are a flaming red. “Don’t worry, I didn’t give you a fake number or anything.”
“Hmm,” he says, and he looks me up and down as I open the door. “I’ll call you tomorrow to make sure.”
“Smooth again,” I say, rolling my eyes and stepping out onto the sidewalk. It’s dark now. “Thanks.”
I gently slam the door shut, and he salutes me good-bye through the window before he drives off. I listen to the sound of the engine, the noise of the tires until they fade away. After standing on the sidewalk in the dark for a few minutes, blushing to myself like an absolute creep, I finally turn around and head for the house. It’s only then that I notice Tyler’s car parked at the end of the driveway. I thought he would have stayed out longer.