“Come on, Chloe,” he says, those blue eyes catching in the light. Oceans again. “It’s just a ride. Let me help you.”
A teenage boy has run to catch the bus and now stomps up the stairs, hood up, backpack, that particular smell of teenage body spray and weed and winter sweat. He looks at me. Looks at Brody. Recognition flashes across his acne-marked face. “Hey! It’s Candy Kane!”
Brody—er, Candy smiles and nods.
And that’s enough for my pride to find its feet, even though my brain is screaming Just say yes. It’s subzero. You’re going to freeze on this bus. “I can take care of myself.”
“I know you can.” His voice is gentle. Matter-of-fact. “But you don’t have to.”
“Lady?” The bus driver sounds impatient. His voice carries that end-of-shift exhaustion. “On or off?”
I look at Brody. At the warmth and ease he’s offering.
Then I look at the bus. At my escape route. At my dignity.
“I’ll think about your offer.”
It’s not an agreement. It’s not a no. It’s somewhere in between, which is probably the most honest thing I’ve said all day.
I pull out my phone with numb fingers. Open a blank contact and hand it to him.
He enters his number and hands it back to me, his gaze meeting mine with intensity. “I’ll wait for your text.”
Heat flushes my cheeks, but I nod, step onto the bus, and leave him standing there on the sidewalk, hands in his pockets, breath clouding in the cold. Not moving.
But something on his face looks…almost content. Hopeful.
The bus pulls away with a jerk, the engine rumbling as the darkness envelopes me. I sink into the seat, my body swaying with the familiar route I’ve taken a hundred times since selling my car.
Brody Kane.
Two words that represent everything complicated about the last twelve hours.
Really, I should forget the offer. Forget the whole conversation.
But…
I think about Maya’s voice: You’re not exactly his type.
I think about showing up to the wedding events with Brody Kane as my date.
I think about my family’s faces.
And then I think: Maybe I’m tired of being overlooked.
Maybe I’m tired of playing it safe.
Maybe this is the worst idea I’ve ever had.
Maybe I’m going to do it anyway.
You’re an idiot, I tell myself.
But my thumb is already moving. Already typing.
Already making the choice my heart wants even though my brain is screaming warnings.
And hitting Send.
