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She regains her bearings when she says, “I mean, I’ve seen your room. I just figured your car would be equally uninhabitable.”
With a shake of my head, I open the driver’s side door. “Get in the car, Red.”
She does as I say but doesn’t look happy about it. “I thought I told you to stop calling me that.”
I put the car in reverse. “You tell me a lot of things. It can be hard to keep track of it all.” She rolls her eyes, and it’s hard for me to remember why the thought of kissing her was so appealing earlier. I’ll blame it on my good mood after playing on that stage. I would have wanted to kiss anyone at that moment.
I plug my phone in and let my speakers jolt with a sudden rush of sound. It’s on the Arctic Monkeys’ album because I started listening to it again after I told her about it.
Turning the music up a little louder, I focus on the people bar hopping downtown under the glow of the streetlights. Movement catches my eye, and when I glance her way, Margot is staring out the window as she taps her hand on her thigh, her head gently bobbing to the beat.
She likes the song.
Stealing a second glance, I catch her lips moving along to the lyrics.
She knows the song.
I’ve known girls who have liked the same type of music as me. Hell, I’ve known girls who have listened to music I like with hopes it would mean I’d start to like them, too. But with Margot, this feels . . . different. She isn’t trying to impress me, but she trusted me enough to know she’d like the album if I said she would.
Turning down the volume makes her look at me, those big, brown eyes waiting for me to say something.
“I didn’t think you’d listen to the album,” I say, shifting my eyes back to the road and letting the music stay low as we drive onto the highway.
She shrugs. “I downloaded it as soon as you told me about it.”
And the way that one sentence sinks its teeth into me, making me feel things for her I don’t want to feel. She shouldn’t get to erase all the ways she’s annoyed me tonight with one innocent glance and the fact that she bought an album I told her she’d like. “Well, I’m glad you like it.”
Margot nods, suddenly looking less comfortable and drumming her hands on her knees. Silence falls between us, and I don’t like the way it eats at me.
“You guys sounded good tonight.” I must have heard her wrong. When I look at her again, I expect to see sarcasm laced in her features, but she’s watching for my reaction. Having her eyes on me like this makes me tighten my grip on the steering wheel. Plenty of people told me the same thing tonight, but it’s different coming from her. Margot isn’t easy to please, and she wouldn’t tell me we sounded good just to be nice. She means it.
I swallow and nod. “Thanks.” It’s all I trust myself saying, determined to keep my eyes on the road.
I can feel her watching me, analyzing my every move, and I want to know why. I want to know what she sees.
“That’s it?” she finally says.
“What’s it?”
She lets out a light laugh. “This is your chance. You’re not going to gloat or be the cocky asshole you are?”
The corner of my mouth lifts. “Not tonight.”
She pulls her head back slightly but doesn’t say anything. By the time we reach campus, we’ve fallen into a comfortable silence. I park in the lot closest to our dorm, and we get out without a word. The air has cooled, and Margot wraps her arms around herself as we walk. For the second time, I’m faced with the feeling of wishing I had a jacket to offer her, and that realization freaks me out.
Margot is not the sweet girl you offer your jacket to. Margot is the headache who lives across the hall, and I don’t know why I keep confusing the two.
When we get to our dorms, she turns to face me. She pauses, her mouth opening but then closing. I want to know what she’s thinking, so I just wait.
Her eyes are still bright even though she spent most of the night in a shitty dive bar. The makeup that hides her freckles has worn off a little, leaving more of them visible. She tucks her hair behind one of her ears, and my hand twitches with the impulse to reach out and touch her.
“Thanks for the ride home,” she finally says.
I blink, and my hand clenches by my side. “Anytime.”
A tiny crease forms between her eyebrows, and I know I’ve said the wrong thing. But with the way she is right now, wide-eyed, vulnerable . . . open, I would gladly give her a ride home whenever she needed. I like the idea of being needed by Margot—I like the idea of a softer side to her.
She lingers, still looking at me, and my heart pounds harder in my chest with every passing second. The dorm is quiet, still empty. Everyone must still be at the party. No voices carry down the hall or fade into the background. No doors opening or closing. There’s nothing.
