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He nods, slowly. “Of course. Whatever you want.”
I curl my fingers into his hair, and I tug him closer to me again.
“I want you to kiss me, Garrett.”
Chapter Eleven
GARRETT
Something is wrong. But I have no idea what.
On the surface, Mia seems like Mia. But shouldn’t she be happier about getting the role she wanted? She says she is, but it’s like she’s playing another part right now—someone who should be happy. But as good an actress as she is, she’s not that convincing. Not to me.
There’s a wall between us that wasn’t there before she got the phone call from Fiona earlier. It’s a glass wall, so I can still see her, but it’s muted the spark that makes her who she is.
“Maybe we should just go home,” I offer.
“Why?” Dark frames hide her eyes when she glances at me, concealing her emotions as well.
“You haven’t said much since this morning.”
She shrugs and turns her head back to the street.
“We’re already here,” she murmurs.
“Who the fuck cares? We can go home right now.”
We’re on our parents’ street, but that doesn’t mean I won’t do it.
Her smile is indulgent, but something is still off. I want to reach over and rip the fucking sunglasses off her face. I want to see her. The Amelia I know behind the façade. Not the image of her she shows the rest of the world.
“Our moms would never forgive me if we didn’t show up,” she reminds me.
“I could say I wasn’t feeling well.”
“You’ve never been able to lie.”
Except to you, I want to say.
But a lie by omission is different from lying to someone’s face. And she’s right. Straight up dishonesty is something I’ve never been able to do. If something happened when we were kids, we’d both be called into the kitchen of whichever house we were at, and within thirty seconds, I’d spilled every secret they knew about and some they didn’t.
“You could call and say I wasn’t feeling well.”
“Garrett, pull into the driveway and quit stalling.”
We’ve been idling a few houses down, so I let off the brake and slowly pull into my parents’ driveway. I don’t even have the car turned off before both moms burst through the front door like we’re the prodigal children returned.
“Garrett, Amelia! Finally!”
Mom yanks my door open and starts to pull me out of the car.
When Mia reaches over and unbuckles the seatbelt before it can lock against me, I mouth a thanks and manage to get out of the car without falling on the ground. She isn’t faring much better with her mom, who is openly crying and hugging Mia to her in a death grip.
Mom reaches up, pinching my cheeks. “Oh my goodness, look at you. When did you get so grown up and handsome? And now married.”
“Mom.” Reaching up, I gently wrap my hands around her wrists and pull. “Stop. You’re embarrassing me. You saw me last month at Bailey’s birthday dinner.”
But it’s the same every time I see her. The pinching of the cheeks—I shift my jaw to try to ease the sting throbbing in them—and asking how I’m so “grown up and handsome.” I swear she forgets that I’m twenty-five and not five.
