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“It was your grandmother’s. I know she’d want you to have it,” my father says.
My grandma died last year so now I’m feeling guilty for expecting a car and getting a ring.
“It’s so pretty,” I say, trying to be gracious. I slide it on my finger and admire it. Because it is totally beautiful.
It’s just… not a car.
“I love it,” I say. And I do. Just not as much as I would a car.
“I’m so glad,” my mom says. “I told your father we should get you a car, but he said this was more meaningful. Every kid gets a car when they’re eighteen.”
Which isn’t true, obviously. Because April got one at sixteen when I got Space Camp.
But I rally and smile. “It’s so perfect,” I say, getting up from my seat so I can give them both a kiss. “I will love it and cherish it forever.”
“If you’d prefer a car, Aria, we could—“
“No, no, no, Dad. No. This is just perfect. Thank you. So much. I love it. Best birthday ever.” Because I am blushing with guilt for not being thankful enough. “I’m never going to take it off.”
“Put in on your left hand, Aria. That way all the boys will think you’re engaged at that college class next week and leave you alone.”
“Dad,” I fake-whine. “Stop it.”
He smiles at me and then leans in to kiss my mother on the cheek. “We did good,” he whispers to her.
I love that my parents are still in love. When everyone else I know is trading time between two households and getting used to stepparents and new babies, my family is rock solid.
So no. I am not going to complain about getting a diamond ring from my grandmother instead of a car. And I do put it on my left hand to make my father happy.
By the time the show is over and my birthday is winding down, it’s nearly midnight and my parents are taking me home.
God, that’s weird.
“What time is class tomorrow?” my mother asks.
“Not ‘till eleven,” I say.
“I’m going to miss you on the commute, Aria. It won’t be the same without you.”
“I know, Dad. But I’ll be back in a month and then we can spend the last two weeks of the semester riding into the city. Oh,” I say. “Can you stop by the co-op real fast? I have to pick up my flash drive for class tomorrow.”
“Sure, honey,” my mom says.
We pull around the corner and I’m surprised to see the lights on inside. The glass front is frosted and nearly opaque so we can’t see who’s inside when my dad pulls the car up to the door.
“Be right back,” I say, getting out of the car, then realize the balloons my parents got me for my birthday are tied to my wrist. “Shit,” I say, tugging on them to get them off.
“Language,” my mother says, softly.
I let the balloons stay. I’ll just be a second, anyway. When I get inside there is one cube light on.
Ryker North’s.
He’s bending down doing something with his drums when I go to my cube and unlock it.
I’m staring at him over my shoulder when he looks up. “Hmmm,” he says.
I turn away and go into my cube, grab my drive, and then lock back up.
He’s standing in his doorway now, watching me.
He’s wearing a pair of faded jeans and no shirt. And that peekaboo view of his tattoo I caught a glimpse of the other night—full view now.
Holy shit. His chest is like chiseled stone. Hard and smooth, and very, very muscular. There’s a slight sheen of sweat all over him and he’s got full-sleeve tattoos running down his arms in black and red, and his hair is falling over into his face.
Is this the same guy? This cannot be the same guy. He looks nothing like the Ryker North I met on Friday. He looks… like a fucking drummer.
“Happy birthday,” he says, leaning one hip against the door frame and crossing his arms. “I see you’ve been partying.” He nods his chin to the heart-shaped Mylar balloons tied to my wrist.
“Thanks,” I say, reaching up to twirl my hair. It’s a nervous habit that I hate, and it jerks the balloons around like crazy, so I stop and shove my hands into my dress pockets.
His eyes track that movement. “What the fuck is that on your finger? Is that a… did you get engaged?”
“What?” Then I remember the ring. “Oh, this?” I say, bringing my hand out of my pocket so I can flash my diamond at him. Balloons bobbing in the air above my head. “Yup. I’m engaged.” He furrows his brow so deeply I do that backward chin thing in surprise. “What? I’m joking. It was a birthday present from my father. It used to belong to my grandma.”
