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I put my hand on his thigh. "Thank you for helping me. I'd be lost without your assistance."
His face softens. "You're welcome. But you'd be fine."
I shake my head, insisting, "No, I wouldn't. You ask questions I don't think about, and contracts make my head spin."
"Is that the real reason you never read mine until I made you?"
My chest tightens. "No."
"Then what was it?"
"My father—"
"The truth would be nice, pet," he interjects.
My pulse creeps up. His eyes dart between me and the traffic until I cave, confessing, "I wanted to stay with you. It didn't matter what was on it."
"And now?"
"What do you mean?"
"Knowing all the things you know about me, would you still sign it? If I handed you a stack of papers and said, 'This is a new contract, sign it,' what would you do?" he asks.
Goose bumps break out on my skin. "A new contract?"
"Hypothetically speaking. Humor me," he adds.
Is he asking me this because he wants to keep me longer? Or is it really hypothetical?
He pushes, "Cards on the table, pet. Would you sign without reading it? Or would you study it and then decide? Or, would you toss it back at me and tell me to fuck off?"
My mouth turns dry. The flutters in my stomach somersault.
In a hurt voice, he asserts, "I guess the answer is so bad you can't admit it."
"Don't put words in my mouth," I scold.
He glances over his shoulder, veers into the left lane, and accelerates past a semi. The Porsche rattles, and he replies, "Well, your silence says a lot."
I toss back at him, "Why are you asking me this?"
"Because we're talking about contracts."
"Really? You want my honesty but can't even be honest with me in return?" I accuse.
Tension fills the car. He keeps his eyes on the road, pulls off the exit, then speeds down several streets before parallel parking.
For the first time in weeks, I'm pissed. I reach for the door, and he grabs my arm.
"Did you forget my rule?" he questions.
I sneer, "Which one? You have so many."
"Why are you acting like this?"
"Like what? Someone who can open their own car door?" I seethe, internally cursing myself for expecting him to change when he never will. He'll always just be playing games. No matter what I mean to Riggs, he'll never let me in.
If I even mean anything.
