But I hear Tyler softly call my name, and when I glance over my shoulder, he looks more relaxed. “Come here,” he says, but I don’t budge. There’s no reason why I should listen to him. “Come get in the car and I’ll be honest with you and then we’ll go back inside.”
Tyler offering to tell me the truth for once is too good to miss. And if it helps to get him back inside, then I ought to listen. I heave a sigh and turn around, marching back over to the Range Rover and pulling myself up into the passenger seat without letting my guard down. “Okay, what?”
With his tie hung over the back of his neck and one hand resting on the steering wheel, he stares at me for a long minute. I wait for him to speak, but instead I watch his lips curl into a smirk. “Alright, you want honesty? Okay. I’m being totally honest right now when I tell you that we’re getting the hell out of here.”
Before my mind can even process his words, he shoves the car into drive and slams his foot on the gas, and there’s a horrendous screeching as it spins its way across the lot. He doesn’t even look before pulling out onto the street, and we fly out of the parking lot in a frenzy, forcing the cars around us to slam on their brakes.
“Are you serious?” I yell, reaching for my seat belt and yanking it on as quickly as I can. Right now, I fear for my life.
“Not serious,” he says. “Just honest.”
“Take me back,” I demand. Sitting sideways with one hand on the dashboard and the other on my seat belt, I frantically glance between Tyler and the road: Tyler because I’m shooting him death glares, and the road because I don’t trust his driving skills.
“You really want to go back?” The car swerves from side to side. “Look me straight in the eye and tell me that you want to go back to that place and eat that gross food and sit with your dad for an hour. Tell me that you honestly want to do that.” He stares at me, only occasionally stealing a quick glance out the windshield.
“No,” I admit. “I don’t. But I know I have to, so go back before they kill us both. Are you even allowed to drive this?”
In between his hard braking and rapid acceleration, he manages to reply, “Are you even allowed to look like that?”
I throw my hands up in exasperation. I’ve just about had it with him. “Okay, there’s no need to insult me.”
“It wasn’t an insult, Jesus Christ,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair and slamming on the brakes just before we roll into the back of the Porsche in front of us. “We aren’t going back. We’re going home to the house so that I can get a beer and tell you that Jake’s playing you, okay?”
“Thank you, Tyler,” I say acidly. “Thank you for getting me into even more trouble.”
“Last night was on you,” he argues, while growing frustrated with the length of time that the lights are remaining red. “Sure, I took you out, but it was you who chose not to come home, so don’t try and call me out for that one.”
I give in. “Fine. But new problem: your mom is going to flip out when she sees that her car is gone. How’d you even get the keys?”
He laughs as the lights change to green, and he over-revs the engine. “Chill out, they’ll all fit in your dad’s car. And I still had them from when I was parking. Now stop distracting me. I’m trying to drive.”
I press my lips together, staring at his clenched jaw as he finally decides to actually focus on the road. “Try harder.”
It takes us twenty minutes to finally get back to the house, and I’m surprised that we make it there in one piece. Tyler called Ella on the way to tell her that we “couldn’t care less” about eating with them and that we were heading home. He hung up before she could say anything back.
“Go to my room,” he instructs as we get out of the awkwardly parked car and head toward the front door. Thankfully, he has his keys on him. “I’m gonna grab a drink and then we’re gonna discuss that asshole you’re so keen on.”
I hesitate behind him at the door as he swings it open. “I don’t want to discuss anything with you,” I say. He has no say over my decisions, and I can’t figure out why he thinks that he does.
He just sighs nonchalantly. “Go upstairs and go to my room. I’ll be up in two minutes.” He saunters down the hall toward the kitchen as I make my way to the stairs.
As I’m heading up them, I call down, “Just to clarify, I’m going upstairs to my room, not yours.”
“I’ll be in your room, then, in two minutes,” his voice gently yells back, and I find myself shaking my head in defeat as I reach my door. For someone who doesn’t care about much, he can be very persistent.
I kick off my shoes and quickly shove my mound of dirty laundry into the bathroom and shut the door. Other than that, my room isn’t too messy. Tyler doesn’t notice anything when he wanders in with a bottle of beer clutched tightly in his hand.
“Okay, where to start,” he muses to himself. He pauses to take a swig of the beer and then holds up his hand. “Let me simplify it for you: Jake Maxwell is the biggest player of the year.”