We held hands earlier tonight, at the Tates’, but this feels different. That was a performance, but this . . . well, I don’t know what this is. Instinct.
“I’m sorry, Drew,” she says.
“It was a long time ago.”
Ally doesn’t answer in words, but her fingers squeeze mine. It’s a small gesture that says a lot. She gets it. It was a long time ago, but it still hurts like hell to think about it.
And I don’t want to talk about it. I’m not really sure why I brought it up at all, and dumped it on her out of the blue like that. I guess on some subconscious level, I wanted to tell her.
“Do you have any plans for the weekend?” I ask, in an effort to change the subject.
“Nothing too exciting,” Ally says. “Laundry, groceries, and Netflix. Hopefully a long run, too, if the weather’s good.”
“Do you want to play tennis?”
“Yeah, we could. Keep up the illusion of a relationship, right?”
“Right.”
“What day works for you?”
“Saturday morning again? I could pick you up at ten?”
“You don’t have to pick me up,” she says. “I’ll bike down, it’s not that far.”
But we’ve made it to her neighborhood now, and I hate the thought of her biking through here. Or walking through here. Or living here.
I turn a corner and pass a couple of strung-out looking guys on the sidewalk.
I’m sure Ally can look after herself, but she’s a beautiful young woman. And call me judgmental, but this is not a good neighborhood.
“I’ll pick you up Saturday,” I tell her. “We can go for brunch after tennis. You can pick the restaurant.”
She hesitates, and for a minute I think she’s going to argue.
“Okay,” she says on a yawn.
“Tired?” I ask.
“I think it was the tiramisu.” She yawns again. “Rich food always makes me sleepy. Is there such a thing as a tiramisu coma?”
“Never heard of it. I think tiramisu is supposed to keep you awake, because of the coffee.”
That’s why I didn’t eat any of it, even though it looked delicious. I really need to sleep tonight, because I’m operating tomorrow.
And sleep still isn’t coming easily. It doesn’t help that when I do fall asleep, I have feverish dreams of a blue-eyed blonde with cat-eye glasses.
A girl who looks a hell of a lot like the one who’s currently sitting in my passenger seat. The one who’s still letting me hold her hand, making me feel like all the nerve endings in my body have moved to that point of contact.
The one I promised I wouldn’t try to get physical with.
“I don’t think there was actually much coffee in the tiramisu,” Ally says thoughtfully. “It was really good, though. I can’t believe you didn’t try it.”
“Too much lasagna,” I say with a shrug.
I pull up outside her house, then let go of her hand to put the car in park.
Ally looks surprised when I hit the button to shut off the ignition. “Oh, I’m good from here, thanks. You don’t have to walk me to the door.”
