Clay closed my door and quickly got into the driver’s seat. He started up the BMW and I delighted in the smooth purr of the engine. “This is some car. I’ll try not to hate you the next time I try to get my junk pile to start.”
Clay smiled tightly but didn’t respond. For some reason, his car was a touchy subject. He pulled out of the parking lot and onto the main road.
“Do you mind?” I asked, indicating the radio.
“Go ahead. There are some CDs in the glove compartment there.”
I pulled out a handful of CDs and was surprised to see several of my favorites. “You like Placebo?” I asked, holding upSleeping With Ghosts.
“Hell, yeah. I saw them live in Miami a few years ago. They’re amazing.”
“Lucky,” I grumbled with good-natured jealousy. I popped open the CD jewel case and put the disc into the player.
We sat quietly for a few minutes as the alternative-rock music filled the interior of the car. I was mesmerized as I watched Clay’s long fingers drum along to the beat on the steering wheel. Why was it that he could make such mundane actions so interesting? It was official: I was pathetic.
“So, where to, O wonderful tour guide?” Clay asked. I thought for a moment, but ultimately my growling stomach made my decision for me. I pointed to a street sign a few feet ahead.
“Turn right onto Crane Avenue and take the first left,” I instructed.
Clay followed my directions. “Now pull into the parking lot,” I told him, indicating the car lot to the left.
“Bubbles Ice Cream?” Clay scoffed. He looked incredulously at the huge pink giraffe that graced the front of the bright-yellow building. “Seriously? This place looks like it was built by a five-year-old,” he said as we got out of the car.
I playfully punched his arm. “Don’t be so judgy. Just wait until you have Bubbles banana splits. You will die a happy man for having had one,” I assured him, tugging on his hand. To my absolute delight, Clay laced his fingers through mine and squeezed. My heart fluttered painfully in my chest.
“I’ll take your word for it, Mags.” I looked at him in surprise as he so naturally used the nickname reserved for my closest friends and family. The sound of my name on his lips was downright sensual. Like a promise.
We walked into the ice-cream parlor, the bell dinging as we went through the door. Clay never dropped my hand as we walked to the only empty booth in the place. Sliding onto a cracked vinyl seat, Clay looked around. “This place is packed,” he remarked.
I grabbed two menus from behind the plastic bottles of ketchup and mustard. “Bubbles is an institution. They have the best ice cream and hamburgers in the county. You have to get past the cheesy decor,” I insisted.
Clay picked up a ceramic penguin saltshaker and looked at it like it would bite him. “Ooo-kay,” he said slowly, putting it back down. We looked at our menus. There was a lot to choose from. Clay seemed to be struggling with his order.
“Trust me, just get the banana split. You’ll thank me,” I told him when the waitress arrived.
“Sure, why not? You only live once. Two banana splits and two Cokes, please,” he told the waitress. She jotted down our order and left the table. “So, you never said where you were off to in such a rush earlier,” Clay said conversationally.
“Uh, nowhere; I’m just a perpetually busy person,” I lied, not wanting to admit I had blown off cross-country practice to hang out with him. That would have seemed too desperate. “So, where have you been hiding yourself today? I haven’t seen you around,” I remarked, shredding my napkin into tiny strips. Boy, I was nervous.
Clay smirked. “Why? Were you looking for me?” he teased. If he only knew. I stuck my chin out and met his eyes.
“No way. I just happened to notice that the jerk level was remarkably low today,” I said. Clay laughed.
“I had a lunch tutorial for physics. It’s kicking my ass. I didn’t realize how behind I was in so many subjects when I moved here,” he said, drinking the Coke that the waitress had just brought over. I dropped my napkin and put my fidgety hands in my lap.
“Why are you so behind? You seem like a smart guy,” I commented. Clay’s expression darkened and he looked out the window. He cleared his throat.
“School got a little... uh... disrupted for a while. Not a big deal. I’m just busting butt now to get where I need to be.” I noticed he wouldn’t look at me.
He must have been out of school for a while. I wondered why. But I knew that if I asked, he wouldn’t tell me. Clayton Reed was a closed book. At least for now.
“So, have you met many people yet?” I asked, moving on to another subject. Clay’s eyes turned back to me and I felt a little jolt. There was just something about him. I really wished I could get a handle on what it was that made me feel like I would dissolve into a puddle at his feet.
“A few. Not many. I’m not what you would call a ‘people person.’ ” He used air quotes and I laughed.
“Yeah, I’m getting that impression. But not all of us are bad, you know. You should give ‘people’ ”—I mimicked him by using quotes—“a chance; you never know, it might not be a bad thing,” I remarked half-jokingly.
Clay looked at me, his expression intense yet unreadable. What I wouldn’t give to know what was going on in that head of his. “There are some people I’d like to get to know,” he said softly, never taking his eyes off me. I suddenly felt hot and I took a long drink of my soda.
