“Look at my screen,” I order.
He takes the phone from me and studies the screen before he hands it back. He doesn’t ask me why I showed it to him. Grasping my hand, he leads me back toward the garage.
“And this.” I show him my student loan balance next, but he doesn’t bother to look at it.
“Let’s take the bike,” he says. “I’ll go slow.”
“Did you pay my loans?” I snap.
“Mmhmm.”
I stop walking and try to pull my hand from his. Sighing, he lifts me off my feet.
“Why?”
He takes me to his bike and picks up my helmet. “Because they needed to be paid. The interest on that payday loan was killing you.”
“How did you know about that?”
“I made it my business to know. Let’s go. Maybe some ice cream will make you feel better.”
“I can’t afford to pay you back anytime soon, and—”
“You don’t have to pay me back.”
“But what if we break up?”
He looks at me as if I’m speaking a foreign language.
“We won’t,” he says.
“But—”
He shuts me up with a kiss. I open my mouth, and the kiss goes from a fire to explosive.
He abruptly pulls away. “Let’s cool you down.” He lifts me, places me on the bike, and puts the helmet on my head.
“But—”
“Goddammit, woman, I paid the fucking loan. What kind of man would sit back and let his woman work herself to death when he can take care of her? And I’ll buy you whatever the hell I want, like this damn ice cream cone.” He snaps my helmet shutand gets on the bike. As soon as I wrap my arms around him, he drives us out of the garage.
It’s only ten minutes to the ice cream stand. It’s in the middle of Main Street, and tonight’s line is long due to the mild weather. He comes to an abrupt stop at the end of the street. The first thing I notice when he takes the helmet off me is that everyone is staring at us.
Rip doesn’t care. He holds my hand as we walk. I expect us to get in the back of the line, but like the Red Sea, the line parts, and we go directly to the front. I order two scoops of Oreo ice cream in a sugar cone. Rip gets a bottle of water. I look around, feeling self-conscious while everyone watches us. One of my mom’s friends snaps a picture and taps on her phone.
My boyfriend is unfazed. He finds us a bench and gestures for me to sit. I slide in, and he sits next to me, facing the other direction. He pulls me close and kisses my cheek, and I swear, I think I hear everyone gasp.
“I like the way you lick that ice cream,” he whispers in my ear moments later.
I start to choke, but when Mrs. Sharpe—an old, nosy woman who goes to Selene’s father’s church—approaches us, I sober up.
“Does your mother know you’re here, Eden?” she asks without a greeting.
Rip snorts but looks away. After pulling me closer, he rubs his nose on my temple.
“Good evening, Mrs. Sharpe. No, my mother doesn’t know, but I had dinner with her not too long ago,” I reply as politely as I can, and hope she’ll go away. The only reason she goes to church is to spread gossip about everyone.
“Does she know you’re with him?” She points at Rip.
