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That was the only word I could think up to describe the weird, clammy air that enveloped us on the car ride over to the manor.
Gerard hadn’t spoken a word to me since he loaded my bags and Sean’s birthday presents into the boot of his car. Suffocating under the weight of unspoken friction, I tried my best to ignore it by flicking through radio stations.
Problem was, it felt like every channel had decided to play songs that felt like they were personally targeting me.
Already, I had switched over Berlin’s “Take My Breath Away,” “Kiss Me” from Sixpence None the Richer, and Whitney’s “Saving All My Love for You.”
To be honest, I was beginning to think there was a conspiracy going on behind the scenes of our local radio stations and that they had all decided to gang up on my feelings.
When I flicked stations for the last time and landed on Norah Jones’s soulful voice crooning out the lyrics of “Turn Me On,” I gave up the good fight and threw my hands up in defeat.
Daring to cast a glance in his direction, I watched as Gerard drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, looking as cool as a cucumber. His external blasé bullshit appearance irked me in ways I never knew I could be irked. That’s right: irked. Gerard Gibson was beyond irking.
Ugh.
Scowling, I folded my arms across my chest, and glared straight ahead. The wipers on his car were working double time trying to clear the heavy rain from his windscreen, and the fan was blowing a steady stream of hot air into the car, but the windows were still fogging up at a rapid pace.
Finally, after what felt like a lifetime when in truth it couldn’t have been more than seven or eight minutes, Gerard broke the silence. “So, any more playdates planned with your precious Jamie?”
The catty way he said it had my back up. “Depends.”
“On?”
“On whether or not he asks me out again.”
His grip tightened on the wheel.
Ha! Take that.
“What’s wrong?” I bit out. “Jealous much?”
“On the contrary,” he tossed back, jaw ticking. “I’ve developed a hernia from the weight it’s taking me to give a fuck!”
My mouth fell open and I glared at him. “You did not just say that to me.”
“You know what, Claire, I think I just did.”
I narrowed my eyes. “You are such an asshole.”
“Maybe,” he agreed in a hard tone. “But at least I’m not an asshole that goes around school talking about all the ways I plan to fuck you.”
“Excuse me?”
Gerard shrugged unapologetically. “You heard me.”
“Jamie said that about me?”
Silence.
“Gerard!” I snapped, twisting sideways in my seat to look at him. “What did you hear.”
“Enough to know that he wants in your knickers.”
“Well, at least someone does!”
“Nice,” he sneered, shaking his head in disgust. “That’s real fucking nice talk, Claire-Bear.”
“Stop the car.”
