Maybe later, when I lay in bed reflecting on the night’s events, the paparazzi taking my picture would bother me. But right now, all I wanted was for Alec to gun it again so I could feel another rush of adrenaline.
His lips twitched into an almost smile. “Good,” he said more to himself than me. Then, as if masked balls, paparazzi, and fast cars were a regular night for him—which, I had to remind myself,they probably were—he dug his phone out of his pocket and dropped the subject.
The drive was quiet with the exception of my directions and his music. Alec didn’t discriminate against any genre, and over the course of the forty-minute trip, we listened to everything from soft rock and heavy metal to pop and rap. An electronic club song was pumping through the speakers, and Alec bobbed his head to the beat as we neared my house.
“Take a right at the stop sign,” I directed him. “I live down the street.”
He clicked on his blinker, and when we pulled into my subdivision, I cringed. It suddenly occurred to me that I didn’t want Alec Williams to see where I lived. Before today, I’d never felt embarrassed about the small one-story, two-bedroom house. Was it a Beverly Hills mansion? No. But it was cute in its own charming way. Rose and I had planted a flower garden along the tiny concrete porch to bring some color to the yard, and a beach-glass wind chime hung next to the front door. More importantly, Mom worked hard to pay the mortgage, and I was proud of her for that.
But as we approached the driveway, I was acutely aware of how tired the house looked. For starters, it needed a paint job. The old beige coat was flaking away from the siding like dry skin, and a few shingles were missing from the roof.
“It’s the one with the ladybug.” I pointed out our red-and-black mailbox, which came complete with antennae. A flush worked its way down my face and neck. I’d painted the ladybug at a summer camp when I was little and was incredibly proud when Mom proclaimed it “the most adorable mailbox in the postal service kingdom.”
Definitely not so adorable anymore.
I peeked at Alec, nervous about what his reaction would be, but his expression remained neutral as he pulled into the drive. He turned off the engine, cutting off his phone midsong, and then his hands dropped from the steering wheel to his lap.
Neither of us moved. A cat emerged from the yard next door and slunk past the front bumper, his fat body illuminated in theheadlights. Things were less awkward between us when there was music to listen to. I’d noticed that when we were in the garden too. Now that the music was off, the mood in the car was ripe with uncertainty.
What happens now?
If Alec was still Aaron No-Last-Name, I would probably give him my number. Maybe we’d go out on a few dates before one of us lost interest and stopped texting the other, and then our relationship would become nothing more than a friendship on Facebook. But he wasn’t Aaron. Hundreds of girls probably gave Alec their numbers, slipping him a piece of paper with doodle hearts and lipstick marks.
If I did the same—minus the silly decoration, of course—would he think I was only interested in him because of his fame? Was I even interested in him?Yes, I answered myself instantly. I’d enjoyed my time with Aaron-Alec. He was quiet and introspective and sweet in a way I never expected Alec Williams of the Heartbreakers to be. When I thought of famous boy band members, I envisioned someone with confidence, charm, and a little too much swagger. That Alec was entirely unexpected made him all the more intriguing.
Pretend he’s still Aaron, I told myself for the second time that night.
So I opened my bag and pulled out something to write with.Before I could lose my nerve, I leaned over and grabbed his hand. The tip of the marker shook as I pressed it to his skin. I could have asked for his phone and typed my number in, but there was always the chance he’d refuse. Now he’d have to look at this little piece of me on his drive home. Alec said nothing as I printed on him in blue ink, but his hand was warm againstmine. When I finished, I was surprised to find him watching me. His eyes were breathtaking, really, and I decided that gray was my new favorite color.
“Thanks,” he mumbled. There was a small smile on his face as he inspected the tattoo I’d given him. I waited for him to move, but he didn’t.
“Well,” I said, sinking back in my seat. “I should probably head in.”
He nodded, still staring down at the digits on his hand. I gathered up my bag, but I wasn’t actually ready to leave. I wanted something else to happen—maybe for him to give me his number in return or offer to walk me to the door, but no such luck. His lips stayed clamped shut.
“Okay, thanks for the ride.”
Alec’s gaze locked onto mine. “You’re welcome.” There was an electric look in his eyes. His lips parted as if he was going to say more, and I leaned in to hear him better. But then he shook his head ever so slightly, like he’d caught himself doing something he shouldn’t, and turned his attention back to his hands. Which was a major letdown. Like reaching the top of a roller coaster and realizing there was no big drop.
It was time to get out of Alec’s car.
My fingers gripped the door handle, and then I noticed his black wolf mask sitting on the dashboard. He must have tossed it up there when we got in the car. After a moment of hesitation, I reached over and took it, swapping it with my own.
“To remember tonight,” I told him when he gave me a curious look. Not that I would forget tonight, but I wanted somethingmore solid to hold on to than a memory. Sighing, I finally climbed out of the car.
Once I was standing on the driveway, Alec rolled down the window. “Bye, Felicity Lyon,” he said, and I blinked.
He remembers my last name?He’d seemed upset when I’d shared it with him, so I was impressed he managed to recall it.
“Bye, Alec Williams,” I said as he pulled away. And just like that he was gone, taillights disappearing down the road.
***
I let myself into the house. As I expected, it was silent and dark.
Mom wouldn’t get home until late, if she came home at all. It was always like this when Dave wasn’t working. My mom’s boyfriend was a trucker, and sometimes he’d be gone for weeks, so she spent as much time with him as possible during his days off.
I didn’t mind all that much; I liked Dave. Unlike with her past boyfriends, I could tell my mom was happy. He made her laugh, and whenever he came back from a trip, he brought her a little trinket from one of the states he’d driven through. Sometimes there was even something for me.
