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“What seems to be the problem?” I ask even though I can see exactly what she’s unhappy with.
“I’m afraid I’m going to fall in these but they’re the only snow boots I have.”
“You don’t have anything without a heel?”
She shakes her head before saying, “I have sneakers.”
“You should wear those.”
“But they don’t go with my outfit.” Raising my eyebrow at her, I take her in from head to toe, my eyes lingering on the way her cream sweater hugs her chest for longer than necessary, before finally continuing over her jean-clad hips.
“Sneakers go with everything.”
“Says the man who only wears jeans and t-shirts.”
“I don’t need heels. I’m tall enough as it is.” My grin grows as she scowls at my comment. “Where are your sneakers? I’ll go get them because you will fall in those and then you won’t be able to walk, let alone drive.”
By the time I find Scarlet’s shoes in the depths of her closet and she’s ready to leave the house, her car’s been running for twenty minutes. It’s nice and toasty as I tuck her in the driver’s seat.
“I want you to test the gas and the brake. See how your ankle feels bending.” She does as I ask and purses her lips to hide her grimace. “Now push the brake all the way to the floor as fast as you can.”
This time she doesn’t mask the pain.
“What am I supposed to do if I can’t drive? My parents are expecting me this afternoon.”
“Chicago’s not that far. I can take you if you want.”
It’s not like I have anything else on my plate. I was going to hang with Kane before he takes off this afternoon, but he’ll understand. After that, I’m free for the remainder of break. The guys and I aren’t getting together to practice until a few days before New Year’s, and that’s mainly to run through our set.
The words have barely left my mouth when the look on Scarlet’s face has me wanting to retract my offer.
“Uh, I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”
“Why don’t we go back inside and figure out a plan then.” I try to mask my feelings of rejection and fail miserably.
“It’s not that I don’t appreciate the offer,” she begins, “it’s just that my parents are kind of assholes and I’d hate to subject you to them and ruin your holiday. Plus, I couldn’t ask you to do that. I’m sure you have better things to do than to drive me home.”
Better things to do than spend time with her? No.
I can’t think of anything else that would make me happy, even if it means a four-hour drive through the snow only to drop her off and return to an empty house, reminding me I’m all alone.
