“Yeah, you're not. You don’t have to leave with me, but you’re not driving.”
She wanted to protest again, but being so close to him made it hard to think. This was bad. She put some space between them. “Fine. Whatever.” She winced at his raised eyebrows and pursed lips. “Sorry. A ride home would be nice.”
They made their way to the parking lot. He steered her toward one of the flashier cars in the lot—a Porsche Cayman. How many of the guys inside could have paid cash for a vehicle like this? He unlocked her door and held her arm until she was seated. The interior filled her head with his scent and leather, and made her thoughts dance faster.
It didn't escape her when he took the opportunity to watch her skirt ride up. Good. At least she wasn’t the only one this was affecting. She took her time smoothing the hem out again.
An awkward silence descended between them as he pulled onto the road. A string of questions spilled through her head, some ice-breakers, others flirty, and others filled with self-righteous indignation. She couldn't focus enough to figure out which direction she wanted to go. Her mouth made the decision without her brain’s permission. “So is the ride home a clever excuse to try and get me in bed again?”
His eyes narrowed. “This is the one and only time I’ll ever say this. Never, not before, not now, not in the future, will we do anything while you’re under the influence.”
Could she staple her lips shut when he was around? What was wrong with her? He’d rescued her—not just from Drunk Douche, or having to take a cab home, but from an evening she didn’t want after all—and she was insulting him in return.
He sighed and fished a pack of smokes from his shirt pocket. He stuck one to his lips then obviously thought better of it.
“You can smoke; I don't care.”
“You sure?”
“It’s your car. Besides, you're doing me a favor.”
“Why do you do that?” He rolled the window down before lighting up.
“Do…?” She puzzled over his answer.
“Run hot and cold?”
Rae stared at him, surprised by the question and the vehemence behind it. “Uh…I'm not? I don't.”
“I’ve thought about this a lot more than I should since you came back.” He exhaled, smoke drifting out the window and vanishing in to the night. “Maybe I’m imagining it. Or maybe it’s an unavoidable consequence of us being around each other. We flirt. We pull away. You tell me you’d rather stand on your own. You take it all back and offer an apology instead. I push, you push back. For as much as we’ve grown, we haven’t changed at all. We still struggle to land on the same page at the same time.”
Figured. She was struggling to force the alcohol aside enough to hold up her half the conversation, and he was all introspective and logical. “I don’t have an argument for you.”
“I know I promised rewriting our ending would give me closure, but I can’t seem to let our breakup go, regardless of how long ago it happened, or how many misunderstandings we cleared up.” He pulled the elastic from his ponytail and raked his fingers through his hair. “It’s not because you dumped me, or left town without even saying goodbye, or told everyone I was the one pushing you into a future you didn’t want. None of that would have mattered if you had been anyone else.”
The resignation and sadness in his tone dug at something deep in her chest, leaving an ache. She wasn’t sure what to say. What could she say?
It didn’t matter. He continued anyway. “I trusted you. More than anyone. You were my confidant and my equal. You were the only person I could be myself around. Even with Scott there were certain behaviors I kept in check because of his parents.”
The words sank under her skin, devouring her drunken buzz.
He sucked in a breath through clenched teeth. “I thought we could talk about anything, and when you walked out, I realized the only conversation that mattered was the one thing you kept to yourself.”
He flicked his cigarette out the window and exhaled, breath shaky. “You made assumptions. I saw it happening and hoped it would solve itself. We thought we were sharing ourselves with each other, and instead it was this verbal dance, both of us too stubborn to yield. And it still is.”
“You’re right.” She’d meant to keep that to herself, but it was a relief to have the words out there.
He gave a short laugh. “We’re kind of fucked up like that, I guess.”
The silence between them weighed on her more heavily than any argument she ever remembered having. “I’m sorry.” Her apology felt weak. Insufficient. But what else was there?
He pulled his car into her spot in visitor parking, and turned to her. Exhaustion and regret lined his face. His voice was quiet and heavy with sadness. “Me too.”
Chapter Nine