“Jesus, is that a leather jacket worn by Senna?”I say, gasping.
“He probably only wore it once,” Matt quips.“Everyone’s used shit is here.”
“Except yours,” I point out.
“I can offer a private sale of my now wet socks if that’s what you’re after, Chloe.”
We both chuckle along, but then there is a heavy silence.The clapping of shoes on the sidewalk as the rain starts to ease from a downfall into a light shower.The purring rise and fall of passing traffic.Sirens in the distance.
“So...if you’re not dating Jack Sheppard, whoareyou dating?”Matt asks, his eyes still on the window display.
Where did that come from?
“No one,” I say.“Are you dating?”I shoot back, unable to help myself.
“Not recently,” he replies coolly.
“It’s hard to keep up,” I tease, enjoying the dig.
“I was only seriously dating Maria Colenso.”
“The daughter of the Rossini engineer?”
“Yep.Made things a bit awkward on the track for a couple of years after that imploded.”
“And there’s yet another example of why you should never screw the crew,” I say, as though I’ve been keeping a mental checklist.
Matt turns to face me and stills, leaning against the glass of the storefront.I risk a glance at him and the intensity of his stare pins me to the spot.His hair, like mine, is wet and hanging slick against his forehead.His shirt is damp and clinging to the muscles along his arms, slightly transparent.The warm light from the streetlamp hits his face perfectly, bringing out the green flecks in his eyes.He flicks his hair back out of his face, and the corner of his mouth turns up in just a hint of a smile.
I look down at my hands, then adjust my tote on my shoulder and turn my attention once again to the contents of the storefront.In the distance is the wail of a siren, like a warning not to go any further.
Matt finally breaks the silence.“I know it’s not ideal, butI gave up trying to have anything normal.It’s hard with this life.”
“Truth.”
“You never met anyone, Chloe?Never fell inlove?”he asks, and although the delivery of this question is light, I can detect the awkwardness in his tone.
I do not take my eyes off the contents of that store.
“Sure,” I say.
“When?”
“Oh, way back.”I take a breath, facing him again.On some level, I guess I want him to know the truth, humiliating as it is.I bravely hold his gaze and his jaw twitches, those hazel eyes dancing side to side, scanning me for the truth.A bead of rainwater trails down his temple, and I have to resist the urge to wipe it away.Instead, I tuck my own wet locks of hair behind my ears.And I breathe.Slowly.My heart seems determined to unsettle me with heavy thuds against my chest.
“Who?”he pushes.And then I see that little curl at the edge of his mouth and the crinkle in the corner of his eye, and I feel unsure I can trust him with this deeply personal fact.
“Why are you asking me this?”I shoot back, folding my arms, backing away from the storefront and from him.I feel Matt’s hand on mine as he tugs me away from the curb and under the awning into the darkness.His hand is warm, and gentle.
I hear his breath catch slightly as he waits, but I don’t respond.
I don’t really need to.I’m angry with him.Why is he badgering me?What is he looking for from this conversation?
Before I have a chance to walk away, he reaches towardme, his hands grazing slowly up my arm.He touches mesogently, it tickles, and my body twitches against his fingers.I feel so fragile under his touch.Like thin glass.Like I might shatter if I move.
“It’s still raining,” he says quietly.
“Mm-hm,” I barely reply, my voice thin as his fingers move down my arm again, and I try not to sink into the delicious friction against my damp skin.He’s never touched me like this before.It’s tentative.This is no friendly arm draped around my shoulder, or bear hug after a race.This is different.This touch is filled with longing, withintentions.
