David shut the trunk and came before me with two water bottles in hand.
“You take care of me so well,” I teased, accepting the water.
He didn’t respond, cracking open his own bottle to take a few sips. We both were well aware that it was best to strike while the others’ defenses were down. And for some reason, David had lowered the bridge and opened his iron gates.
“Are they one of my members?” I asked.
David frowned. “What?”
“The person you’re seeing.” I waved the socks around. “First, opening the doors, helping them down the beach, and now, you have a woman’s pair of socks?”
“They’re unisex.” His tone was flat.
“They’re small,” I said. “Too small for you.”
“Now who’s the one with the fetish?” he teased. “Been checking out the size of my feet, Daredevil? If you were curious, you could have just asked.”
“You wish.”
“This is the second time you’ve inquired about my love life,” he said. “Doesn’t seem like I’m the one doing the wishing.”
“Just making conversation,” I mimicked his tone. “My questions are meaningless, like most.”
He laughed. Silence settled between us once more as I pulled on the socks. He watched me shrug out of my blazer and take my twists out of my hair tie.
“What is it?” I asked, pulling on my blue Westbrooke University sweatshirt.
“Nothing.” David blinked and turned to look at the ocean. I figured we’d leave it there, give ourselves a brief break to recuperate from being in one another’s faces for so long. But he turned back to me with a question in his eyes and hesitation on his lips.
“Are you good?” I asked, studying him with a mix of concern and suspicion.
“Definitely,” he said, voice low with defensiveness.
“‘You sure? I saw how hard it was for you to get all that attention.” I gave him a look. “You do realize people like guys who play football? It doesn’t make sense to me, but they do. And somehow you’ve stumbled into recognition and easily earned awe, and yet, you act like you’re some socially inept eighth grader with a body odor problem.”
“I seem to remember that was once the case,” he said, self-deprecation infused in his smile.
“I figured your bleak outlook on existence shunned the idea of being stuck in the past,” I teased.
“It does,” he confirmed.
“So why are you knee-deep in it?”
“How do you figure I am?”
“Because of our entangled history. I know what you looked like in middle school.” I stood up and shut the cardoor. “I know what mini David Evans looked like when people realized you weren’t so weird after all. You get red when you’re nervous. A cliché, bright, burning red, that makes your nonchalance shed like the farce it is.”
“I wasn’t nervous,” he said. “I was…”
I raised a brow. “Was?”
“Worried,” he mumbled and took another sip of water.
“Worried? About what?”
He shrugged. “How were you going to manage not being the center of attention for more than a few seconds? My heart was in utter shambles for you because I know how much you need it to survive. I remember what you looked like in middle school, too.”
I laughed and bent down to check my reflection in the car’s side mirror. “You’re an ass.”
