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But Darius shakes his head, expression sour. “Any man worth dating won’t rush you, Lucy.”
Noted.
I still scurry to my bedroom extra fast. No need to keep my friend waiting.
* * *
“Let me split this with you.”
We’re tucked in the back of a cab, drifting through the city streets to the party. The night sky is dark, but so many lights glow all around that it’s almost as bright as during the day.
Headlights. Lit-up windows. Glowing neon shop signs, and flickering advertisements on giant billboards. It all washes the streets in a bright electric glow, and I’m relieved to huddle in the shade of the cab.
“No.”
Darius sits next to me, his elegant body folded into the leather seat. Sometime in the last few minutes, he snagged mywrist, and now he’s tracing feather-light circles over my racing pulse point. It’s hard to read his expression in the gloom.
But the wrist thing—it’s all fake. For our practice date.
Yet goosebumps still ripple down my bare arms.
Red velvet clings to the rest of my body, hugging the hourglass shape of my curves—and my cheeks go hot every time I think about Darius demanding that I keep this dress on. Which, so far in the last fifteen minutes, has replayed in my mind about a billion times.
He really likes it?
He thinks it looks good?
Shaking my head, I try to focus: numbers. Cab fare. Right.
“We should split this, Darius.” He’s not budging, but I try again. “We’re both benefiting from the ride, and actually you live closer to the party than I do, so really if anything,Ishould—”
“It’s a date, Lucy.” Darius fixes me with a look, that fingertip still swooping over my wrist. “Let me pay for you, woman. Stop fighting this.”
“But—”
“I’m going to buy your drinks, too. Might as well make your peace with that now.”
Ugh. Does he have to be so bossy about it? Such a caveman?
Although… a tiny, shameful, bad-feminist part of me loves this. Loves being treated like someone special. It feels sonice. Even if it’s fake, even if it’s all just practice, I’ve never had someone rush to pay for me before. Usually I’m the one bailing people out, then writing off their debt after a while when they’ve clearly forgotten.
…But not with Darius. Now that I think about it, whenever we go out for a friendly dinner together, we always fight to pay the bill, and he agrees that I’ll pay it next time, but ‘next time’ never comes. Then there are those morning coffees and pastries,those treats that he never accepts payment for, even though I offer…
Oh, god. Am I a leech?
“Iwantto pay, Lucy.” It’s like Darius is reading my mind, studying the stiff set of my shoulders. Hearing all my unspoken doubts, and soothing them away with his circling thumb. “I love paying for you. Please let me. All I want is to take care of you.”
I swallow, unsure, though my heart’s pumping extra hard. He didn’t mean anything by that. He means he loves taking care of me as his friend.
“I just—I feel like I’m taking advantage of you. Not only tonight, but those morning pastries… those dinners…. I feel terrible.”
Darius inhales sharply, and raises my wrist to his mouth. The brush of his lips scorches all the way down to my toes, and his hot words tickle my skin.
“Don’t take those things away from me, sweetheart. I love treating you. It’s the best part of my day.”
God. He shouldn’t say things like that to me. It’ll warp my brain and give me false hope. And I should argue more, but—
Can’t think with Darius kissing my wrist.
