Giving her rides whenever she needs is one of them.
To be fair, she’s also made it very clear that she is perfectly able to buy a new car, just hasn’t found one she likes yet.
I’m still getting used to her being loaded.
And owning the hockey arena… that shit’s weird.
We’re about halfway down the block when she connects her phone to my car, scrolling through a playlist she made specifically for when we’re in the car together.
A small smile plays on my lips. She’s one of the few people who just seem to get me, and after accidentally singing along to New Romantics while we were on the way to practice one day, my little Taylor Swift obsession was outed.
What can I say, her music makes me feel good.
Ever since, she’s cultivated the perfect playlist filled with songs we both love.
“How have things been going with the rink?” I ask her, turning onto Main St.
Shrugging, she turns down the volume and angles her body towards me. “It’s okay I guess. I’m thankful my Mom gave it to me, but it’s a lot of work.”
“And things with your Mom are…”
“She’s trying.”
I can honestly say I have no idea how Claire manages to stay so positive. She forgave her mom and has beentrying to rebuild their relationship, but if someone had treated me like that? I wouldn’t be giving them a second chance.
Lucas has been a firm supporter of never speaking to that woman again, but Claire won’t hear it.
“How have things been for you?” She asks in return, “Craig won’t give me any updates on your progress, patient confidentiality and all that.”
I laugh, grateful that he’s respecting my privacy. “I’m doing better? Shit is still hard, still have bad days, but the good ones are more frequent than I’ve had in years.”
“Is that because of the new meds, or because of all that time you’ve been spending with this girl you won’t tell me anything about?” She pokes my side playfully, a wide grin plastered to her face.
“Ha, Ha” I deadpan. “You’ll meet her eventually, but she’s skittish. I’m just trying to find the right opportunity.”
For the last two hours, I haven’t been able to focus on anything other than the dark-haired goddess sitting across from me. She takes up all the space in my head whenever she’s close, which means I don’t get any actual studying done on our little dates.
I called it that once —a date— and I swear her whole face went pure white. For some reason that scared the shit out of her, if it was anyone else, I would poke fun, but I can’t bring myself to do that with her. At least not when she acts like she’s seen a ghost.
She flips through her textbook, taking notes for a class.When she looks up, she catches me staring and narrows her eyes, “you’ve got some serious issues.”
A startled laugh escapes me, “what the hell does that mean?” I can’t help but smile. I wish she could have this confidence around everyone else.
“You keep looking at me funny. I can only assume that you have issues when you spend all day, every day, looking at me.” She tries to tuck a strand of short black hair behind her ear, but it falls back in her face.
I smirk at her, “well when you show up to a coffee shop to study in tight black jeans and a cropped tank-top… how am Inotsupposed to stare?”
She looks so damn good today. Dark red lipstick paints her lips, making them look downright sinful. The varying shades of red she wears on them every day sends my mind spiralling, thinking of all the dirty things I would do if only she gave me a chance.
I don’t get to see her tattoos often, she usually wears sweaters or long sleeves, so the times when I do get to see them, I memorize every single one. She has a dagger that sits in between her tits, the hilt of it peeking out through the top of her shirt. It’s surrounded by vines and flowers, something deadly and delicate at the same time. It takes everything I have in me not to stare at it.
Her arms are covered in ink, more vines and flowers, birds, butterflies, stars and moons. A vine weaves its way onto her right shoulder, with rosary beads tangled in between. A detailed black rose sits atop her left hand, while palm leaves spread across her right.
I don’t ask her what they mean, worried that I’ll scare her off. I tried once, but she went dead silent, didn’t talk to me for three days. It fucking killed me.
Even though I don’t want to pry, I can’t help butwonder. I want to know more about her —everything about her. I want to know why she gets so skittish when I try to get to know her or ask questions about her tattoos.
There’s a story there, I know it.
