A quick conversation with a suspicious Miriam later, and Arielle and Judah were on their way. But despite his politely putting her bag in his trunk and holding her door open, he’d already gone a solid ten minutes without saying a single word to her.
The ride wasn’t silent—he put music on almost immediately, and the thought occurred to her how painfully awkward it would be if he put on one of his own songs. But it was an innocuous playlist, a mix of classic and folk rock beginning with John Denver’s “Take Me Home, Country Roads,” which she’d always liked.
Once the next song began, though, she could no longer stand the lack of conversation. “So, two things about you I’ve learned tonight,” she said, her voice sounding extra loud to her ears. “You’re not shomer negiah,andyou don’t listen strictly to Jewish music in your free time.”
“Sounds like what you learned tonight is that you make a lot of assumptions,” he said coolly, not a hint of flirtation in his voice.
“You’re telling me you never gave a single thought to me before kissing me tonight? Made no assumptions?”
“Well, I assumed we could go this entire car ride withoutdiscussing what happened earlier, so I guess I’ve made some poor assumptions too.”
Arielle snorted. “Oh, you did not. You waited around for me the entire wedding specificallyso thatyou could drive me home from the wedding at which we kissed, and you want me to believe you didn’t want to talk about it? You’re full of shit.”
He winced, and she didn’t know whether it was the accuracy, the profanity, or the callout that did it, but she certainly wasn’t sorry.
“Fine, then I’m telling you now that I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Fine.” It wasn’t as if she was dying to talk about it either. If that was how he was gonna be, then she had no interest in a repeat, even if it was a really, really good kiss.
Even if they both were.
The song changed to “Bad Moon Rising,” and Ari was tempted to sing along, but she wondered if Judah abided by Kol Isha. Then she laughed to herself at the absurdity of considering it forbidden to listen to a girl sing when you’d just had your tongue down her throat. Or maybe it wasn’t entirely to herself, because Judah snapped, “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing. God.” She huffed out a breath. “You know, I don’t think you get to be mad at me because you liked kissing me,” she said flatly.
“I’m not mad at you because I liked kissing you.” His response came out in a snarl that picked up right where his kiss left off, sending a fresh jolt of heat through her body.
“Then why won’t you look at me?”
“I’m driving, Arielle. Keeping your eyes on the road is kind of the point.”
“You’re going to laser potholes into the pavement, which feels like a little much.” She sighed and turned to look out the window, taking in the New York City skyline. She always searched for theEmpire State Building to see what colors it was lit up that night, with bonus points if she could figure out why. Sometimes it was obvious, like green and red for Christmas or blue and white for Chanukah. Purple and white for NYU graduation took her a little longer. “I had a ride, you know. You didn’t have to drive me.”
He didn’t say anything, which forced her to look at him again. His eyes were still on the road, and if nothing else, she could appreciate that he was a good driver—steady, but not too fast or too slow. Confident. His profile glowed in the lights of the bridge, and she allowed herself a moment to appreciate his angular jaw, that petulant mouth. That it had been on hers not that long ago seemed impossible to imagine in the frosty silence of his practical Nissan Altima.
A silence he finally broke with, “Can you please stop looking at me?”
“Are you serious right now?” She rolled her eyes. “You waited for me. Kissed me for thesecondtime. Offered me a ride. And you don’t want to talk, you don’t want to look at me, and GodforbidI look at you. This is really fucking weird, Judah.”
“I just need you not to look at me for a minute, okay?”
She sighed and turned back to the skyline.
“I’m not mad atyoubecause I liked kissing you. I’m mad at myself. Which I know is an incredible cliché, but I am.”
“I don’t suppose it would help if I told you that God will forgive you?” she offered. “Not that I’m an expert on that, but it feels like one really apologetic Yom Kippur can probably fix it.”
He snorted. “I don’t feelbadfor kissing you. I’m not actually married with five kids.”
“Okay, but I assume you’re shomer, and—”
“Not that either. I mean, yes, I am. Or was. I don’t know.” His fingers tapped on the wheel. “It’s complicated.”
“Then uncomplicate it instead of freezing me out and making me feel bad for destroying your virtue when we both know I was not acting alone in that bridal suite.”
He exhaled sharply, and though she was keeping to her word and fixing her eyes out her window, she could picture him perfectly at that moment, the firm set of his jaw and the laser focus of his dark blue eyes, the way his Adam’s apple worked in his throat. She was dismayed to realize he had a very lickable throat. “I have gone on eleven million dates with ten million different women, and I’ve never touched a single one.”
“Well, if you’re not mad because you’re shomer, are you pissed that youdidn’thave to buy me dinner first? Because honestly, that seems like a pretty sweet deal.”
