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I want to scream. But I know. I know what he was thinking. My whole body shakes as I take the plunge, daring him to be honest with me in a way I am never honest with him.
“Because you hate me, and you don’t want me to know you think it’s hot that I can handle a car?” I guess. “Don’t worry, Colt. You’re not that special. Every guy gets a boner for chicks with sticks.”
“It’s not that,” he says. “You know you’re hot. I don’t need to tell you.”
“Now you really have to tell me,” I insist, pulling up at Two Scoops of Love, the local ice cream shoppe. “Or at least tell me why you can’t.”
“Because I have a girlfriend,” he says quietly, his dusky blue eyes pinning me to the seat, leaving me helpless. I can’t even breathe. His words sucked all the joy from inside June Bug and thrust me back into reality. And that’s the very last place I want to be.
I reach for the door, but Colt doesn’t move.
“I can’t go in here,” he says, staring out the windshield at the place he took me at midnight a month ago, when we snuck in together.
“Why?” I ask. “Oh my god, did you get caught?”
“No,” he says, still not moving.
“They had cameras?” I ask, my heart thudding in my ears. “Am I banned too?”
“Nah,” he says. “I just… I’m not allowed in. You go ahead.”
I know it’s stupid to care. I didn’t invite him. He tagged along. I should just go in, get ice cream because it’s my comfort food. That’s what I wanted. Not a date with Colt.
But now that he’s here, I don’t want to go in and eat ice cream while he sits in the parking lot alone. Especially not when I realize the reason he’s banned.
“You can’t go in because of the Dolces?” I ask. “What the fuck?”
His jaw clenches, but he doesn’t answer.
“Shit,” I say quietly. “What would they do to you if you ate here?”
“Nothing,” he says. “But they’d burn it to the ground if anyone served me.”
“That’s why you come at night,” I whisper, horrified by the knowledge that this is the family I chose to align myself with for the past two years.
I know the Dolces hate him, that they’ve run Darlings out of Faulkner, forced them out of positions of power, and turned the founding families against those who remain. But it’s a whole other level of petty to ban them from an ice cream parlour. God forbid Colt have a little taste of joy in this town.
“Fuck it,” I say, climbing out. “I want ice cream. Don’t go anywhere.”
Five minutes later, I slide back into the Mustang and hand Colt a cup. “What’s this?” he asks.
“It’s a root beer float,” I say, passing him a spoon. “If you get any on my seats, I will sue for damages.”
“Now it’s my turn to ask,” he says, taking the spoon and setting it on his thigh. “Why are you being nice to me, Lo?”
“Because you were nice to me,” I say. “And because… I’m sorry.”
“So you’re being nice to me out of pity?”
I could say yes. It’s on the tip of my tongue, programmed into me after years of scornful remarks directed his way. It would make things easy, keep things the way they are between us. Continue our little play of cutting each other down.
But I’m done with that part of my life, so I take an even bigger plunge, this one as terrifying as diving off a cliff into the ocean. I take a breath and turn to him. “I’m sorry I was such a bitch to you for the past two years.”
“Well, I wasn’t here last year,” he points out. “So it was really just one year.”
I swallow. “Well, I’m sorry. And… Thank you.”
He fits the drink between his thighs, which has me staring at his lap, my mouth practically watering when I remember the cross piercing he has down there, how it felt in the back of my throat.
