“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I groan. I turn to Evan and for whatever reason, he thinks this is the appropriate time to smile at me. His cheeks are flushed from being inside the venue for so long and his hair is a mess. Still, he’s fuckingsmilingat me. “You parked us in the wrong spot.”
He pulls out his phone, chuckling. “Don’t blame me, Angel. You have eyes too.” He starts typing for a few seconds, not looking at me.
“Who are you texting?”
“Charles.”
“Who the hell is Charles?”
“My driver,” he replies flippantly, shoving his phone into his back pocket. “He’ll be here in ten.”
“Of course,” I mutter.
Obviously he has a driver because he’ssoimportant. I used to have one too during high school, but as I started to grow up, doing things I know my family wouldn’t approve of, the stupidest thing would be to have someone driving me around everywhere and reporting back to my parents. Evan is either a secretly good boy or he doesn’t give a shit about what his family thinks about what he does.
Exactly ten minutes later, a black Escalade pulls up behind my car. I follow behind Evan as he walks towards it.
He opens the backdoor for me and I slide in there, finally able to take off my shoes. Evan gets in next to me, rattling off my address to the white middle-aged man in the front seat.
Evan must be as exhausted and pissed off as I am because he leans his head against the headrest, manspreading. His shirt sleeves have rolled up a little, exposing his lightly tanned arms and a silver watch on his right wrist which rests between his thighs on the seat. I weirdly get off on the way I can unravel him so easily.
So, I move my sore feet from the floor in front of me to over his lap. I’m messing with him, obviously, but it feels good to know that it wasn’t just me who felt that strange pull between us earlier when he was tending to my ankle. We annoy each other. It’s our thing. But sometimes, it feels like we’re going to burst intoflames, and I want to be the one holding the match.
For a second I think he hasn’t even noticed my bare legs in his lap until his eyes open. His hot gaze travels from the curve of my foot now resting on the car door, up my legs and then to my face.
I’m watching him, trying to see if his face will crack. It’s one thing to look at, but it’s another thing to read. He doesn’t wear his emotions on his face like many people I know, where you can tell exactly what they’re thinking about without asking. His face is blank with a wave of irritation and anger.
“Don’t do that, Scar,” he breathes.
Scar, that’s a new nickname from him. It’s either my full name or ‘Angel.’ I always thought that was out of bounds for him. He rolls his head back onto the seat, closing his eyes again.
“Why not? I’ve got nowhere else to put them,” I joke, scooting closer to him so my knees bend a little and both my thighs and my calves are touching his legs. “It’s your fault I twisted my ankle.”
“That didn’t seem to be a problem twenty minutes ago when you fucked that guy in the bathroom,” he relays. I don’t respond and I wiggle my legs in his lap. He groans. “Don’t do this to me, Angel.”
I’m about to make another snarky comment, but the car jolts forward, making me yelp as I almost fall flat on my face. Charles shouts out an apology. I think I mumble something in response, but I can’t focus on anything other than Evan’s hot and warm hand wrapping around my middle, pulling me back into the seat.
He huffs and I’m smiling, finally having broken him. His woody scent invades my senses as his long arm reaches above me as he pulls the seatbelt down and clips it in.
“I can do that myself,” I say.
“Well, clearly you can’t,” he responds, moving back into his seat with an exaggerated sigh. He runs his hand through his hair, leaving it messier than it was before he touched it. He doesn’t even seem to care anymore. In fact, he seems pissed.
“I don’t know why you’re angry. I didn’t ask you to do that for me,” I say.
“And I didn’t ask you to put your legs on me, and here we are.”
So, we’re back to this? Perfect.
I avert my gaze from his and turn to look out at the dark night sky. It’s hard to see the stars, but if I stare for long enough, I can just about make out tiny silver dots. The smell coming from the crack in the window is one of my favourite smells. It’s the deep, humid, and thick smell you get after it’s rained, and I love it. It feels like a warm hug or a fresh shower.
When we get to the parking lot of my apartment building, I glance over to him and he’s staring out of the window. I hate this uncomfortable feeling like I’m walking on eggshells around him. I want him to joke with me. To fight with me. Anything.
“Thanks for the ride,” I say, moving to open my door.
“I’m walking you up,” he replies as he opens his door, not giving me a choice. Great. A new way to make this even more unbearable than it already is. I carry my heels in one hand as we walk in silence up to the elevator. When we get to my door, he stands there, hands in his pockets as I lean against the door.
I can’t take the silence anymore, so I say, “Why are you being so nice to me today? We’re supposed to hate each other.”
