Smoothing the hair on the back of my neck, I nod and step forward to open the door for her. She makes herself at home right away. Leaning back against the leather seat, she tilts her head up and closes her eyes for a moment.
Trying not to read too much into it, I round the hood and hop in beside her. Putting the key in the ignition, I’m about to start the car when she reaches over and rests a hand over mine. “Thank you for the ride,” she says simply.
I blink like an idiot. “Yeah, no problem.” I rev the engine, which turns out to be a mistake. As the car turns on, so does my stereo. Mae’s debut album pounds through the speakers at full volume. She reaches for her ears, and I slam the volume dial as fast as I can. I’m going to kill the guys. All of them.
She laughs out loud before reaching for the floorboard. “They told me you were a fan, but,” she holds up a stack of CDs that were definitely not down there before the game, “this seems a little excessive. I mean, who even listens to CDs anymore?” She shuffles through and her eyes widen. “You even have my singles in CD form.”
“Let’s just listen to the radio,” I say, punching the dial again as the car starts to reverse out of the spot.
As she gently sets the CDs back on the floor, she stops on her latest one and switches it for her debut in the stereo. “Someone loves you a whole awful lot to make you look like a fool on a first date.”
She knows it wasn’t me. And she thinks this is a date. Woah, more pressure mounting! “I’m a fan of you,” I stumble, and she whips her head towards me like I’m some serial killer who’s just admitted his crimes. “Of your music,” I quickly clarify. “Of how you perform it. I’m just going to shut up.”
“Don’t shut up; that’d make this more awkward,” she replies. It’s my turn to whip my attention around. I find her sitting with a perfectly sly grin. I realize that she’s just joking around with me, and I relax slightly. My grasp on the steering wheel eases further at the sight of her smile. She radiates confidence, something that transitioned from the stage to real life impeccably well.
“I’m going to take my hair down,” she states. “Fair warning, I put way too much hairspray in this morning, so it might look a little unappealing.”
I keep my gaze forward on the road, though I don’t think it’s possible for her to lookunappealing. A gleam of light catches my eye in the rearview, and I find a big black SUV catching up to us.
I motion behind us, and she peeks back. “That’s Dalton,” she sighs, and sinks her seat slightly, her flowing, inky hair creating a deep brown halo around her. “There was an incident a few months ago, and since then I haven’t really been allowed to be driven by anyone else. I can’t remember the last time I was behind the wheel.”
“I’m sorry,” I offer. My hands grip the wheel tightly again as I think back to a time in life I’d rather forget, or better yet, rewind and do everything differently. Shaking away the anger and devastation of the worst day of my life, I turn my focus to the beautiful woman in my passenger seat.
I thrum my fingers on the wheel and think of ways I could make this date last longer. “Do you want something to eat? I know a restaurant that would host us in a private back room.”
Her eyes light up but extinguish just as quickly. “I would honestly really love that, but I ate at the game, and I really should get a move on toward New York.”
“I can’t believe you’re doing this to yourself. We could’ve found a different time to meet up.”
“I think we both know that going against a manager’s wishes never bodes well,” she says with wide eyes full of annoyance.
She has me there. “Is there anything you want to do? I feel like a total loser, making you sit and watch me play football for five hours and then driving you away.”
“Wyatt Lucas,” she scolds, her hands going to her hips. “There’s no way you’ve already forgotten that I’m a southern girl. Football and a ride home are perfect.” She’s quiet for a moment, giving me time to recover from the way my full name sounded on her lips. “Listen, I don’t know how to say it, but I need to,” she begins. My chest tightens; I didn’t think she'd turn me down thisearly on. “I appreciate everything you agreed to. I don’t go into things with a half-assed attitude; I’m sure you can relate to that being an athlete. That sentiment applies to my career and to my relationships. I don’t want either of us to be overwhelmed -”
“I’m willing to try,” I blurt. Her lips flatten into a straight line, and she raises her eyebrows. I suppose she doesn’t like being interrupted. “I’m sorry. I won’t interrupt you again,” I say, hunkering back into my seat.
“You’re the other half of … whatever this is. Say what’s on your mind.” Her hand briefly rests on my arm that lays on the center console before she thinks better of it. The hand charged with the offense goes to her mouth.
“I bite my nails too,” I say with a smirk. Her mouth drops open, and she tucks her hands under her thighs. “I don’t actually,” I flinch. What am I saying? “I crack my knuckles, like far too often.”
She shivers as though knuckle popping is worse than nail chewing. “That’s so bad for your joints,” she says.
“I won’t tell if you won’t.” We roll to a stop at a red light, and she extends her hand, the one that hadn’t been near her perfectly painted lips. I take it in mine. This time, her touch lingers. Long after the light has turned green and Dalton has honked, we roll through the intersection. With the serious conversation about our relationship left behind at the traffic light, we find the time to enjoy each other's company in the cool night air.
The joyride ends far too quickly. I could keep driving indefinitely, but that would probably be considered kidnapping, and then she’d never want to see me again. It would be best to let her go her own way.
Parking at the proper hangar with Dalton pulled up a little too close for my liking, I hop out and meet Mae on her side. Opening her door, she extends a hand, and I escort her out of the car. In an awkward moment, we shuffle into each other and share abrief hug. I try not to hug her too hard. I’ve been told by other women that I tend to smother them when I’m too excited. She pats my back twice, signaling the end of the hug, and then she walks away from me.
My brain blanches as I try to think of anything I can do or say to get her to look back at me for two seconds. “Hey Mae.” She turns just as I’d hoped. “Could I get your number?” Her agent shoots daggers at us, but it doesn’t seem to faze Mae.
“Hannah already took care of that. Check your phone!” She doesn’t tell me how Hannah would have managed to put her number in my phone during the game, but then again, she was also probably behind the magical appearance of the 16 Mae Evans CDs in my car. I guess I don’t really care how she did it, just that she did.
There’s nothing left for me when Mae disappears inside. I get back in my car and crank the music. Mae’s singing about the lightness of a newfound love. Is she feeling the same way right now? Will she write a song about this?
Good God, man, calm yourself. Stretching my hands out over the wheel, I give myself a moment to listen to the song before pulling away. The way her words are always so poetic and honest at the same time is intriguing. The music, leaning country, can’t even be defined by one genre. It’s just brilliant music. Brilliant music, created by a brilliant woman.
Catching myself thinking about how the tendrils of her hair felt against my arm as they whipped in the air has me creating things in my head that didn’t happen. What if I’d hugged her tighter? What if I’d tucked that unruly hair behind her ear and left a kiss on her cheek?
