He looks like a man who will fix all your problems, change your life, and rescue you from all your troubles. That’s how I saw him.
“What?” he asks, catching me staring at him.
“Nothing.”
“It’s a long drive to the city to be sitting in silence.”
“Put the radio on, then.”
His mouth curves. “Tell me what you were thinking.”
Well, he asked. “That I used to think you were Prince Charming.”
The curve fades, and he arches an eyebrow. “But not anymore?”
“What do you think?”
“That I was bound to disappoint you at some point.” His lips draw tight. “But I wish I hadn’t.”
I shrug. “No one’s Prince Charming.”
“I was. To you. For a while.” He clenches the wheel harder with his gloved hands. “It scared the shit out of me.”
My surprised eyes meet his in the rearview.
“Maybescaredis the wrong word. I knew I was going to fuck up. At first, I didn’t care. And then I did.”
“I don’t think it’s wrong to fall for someone because you think they’re, like, better than they actually are.” As I say it, I’m aware that I’m defending myself against an accusation he’s not exactly making. “It might make you naïve, or stupid, but it’s notwrong.”
“I didn’t say it was.”
“It’s implied. You think I shouldn’t have put you on a pedestal.”
He’s quiet for a moment, changing lanes to pass a Camry. “I don’t know. Part of me wishes you hadn’t. You wouldn’t hate me so much now. But part of me is happy that I know what it felt like—to be the center of your world. Even if I fumbled in the end.”
I don’t know how to digest this. The Scorpion is a supercar, so the seats are ridiculously low. You feel like your ass is almost skimming the highway, and the hood is so short, it’s like you’re hurtling forward in one of those bungee rides at the beach that shoot you into the air on an elastic band.
Usually, I love it, especially because Adrian drives so smoothly, not like he’s trying to race people or show off. Tonight, though, speeding along in the dark with delicate snow flurries beginning to fall, my nerves are as wired as the first time he took me for a ride. He’s not going too much faster than the limit, but I wish he’d slow down.
I don’t know how to talk to someone about how I really feel. Most of the time, I don’tknowwhat I feel. I’m just getting through life.
Except for the years when I thought we were in love. Then, I was sailing.Flying. And now I’m back on the ground, in the dirt, and I hate him for it, and he’s sitting inches from me, saying he was scared and that he was happy to be the center of my world and that he fumbled.
“You should’ve been sneakier. I’d never have found out. Then I wouldn’t hate you.” I feel so low and pathetic for thinking it, but it’s true, and I guess that’s what we’re doing—being honest now that it doesn’t matter.
He lifts his shoulder. His eyes never leave the road. “I shouldn’t have done it,” he says. The words are plain. Resigned. Real.
He turns on his indicator and exits onto the expressway. The flurries make the warm interior of the Scorpion feel like a snow globe.
“Why can we talk to each other like this now that it’s over?” I ask as he merges into the heavy traffic heading into the city.
“It’s not over,” he says, not a second’s hesitation. “Before, that was for practice. This is for keeps.”
I turn away to look out my window. “You can’t just decide that.”
“No, but I can convince you.”
“Good luck,” I tell him. The thing I felt for him is gone. He killed it, and it’s only a memory now. It seems cruel to remind him, though, with the stars shining and snow falling and the city lights twinkling in the distance.
