She's staring up at me with her mouth open and her hands raised mid-protest, frozen. I realize my hands are still in her hair, and I’ve been staring at her lips.
I step back.
"Top's going down for the drive." I say, a hitch in my voice. "It will feel nice with your hair down."
The gas pump clicks off.
I walk back around the car without looking at her again.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
BLAIRE
What the fuck was that? And why did I like it so much?
I’ve never been one of those play in my hair type women. Well, when could I have been? It’s not like Colt was dolling out book boyfriend fantasies the past ten years. The last guy who played in my hair was—
I cringe inwardly.
God. I haven't thought about Michael Bennett in years.
A boy I knew senior year. Tall and sweet and so genuinely, unself-consciously himself that it used to catch me off guard. I liked his hands. The way he'd tap his pen against the library table when he was thinking. The way he laughed when something actually caught him — surprised, like joy was something that happened to him rather than something he performed.
I haven't let myself think about him in a very long time. About what I did to him.
Bennet Sullivan just reminded me of him, and I don't know what to do with that.
He's been silent for the last ten minutes since we left the gas station, one hand easy on the wheel, the city giving way to the highway. I have stopped trying to analyze him and am simply letting the wind do what it's doing to my hair, which is considerable, and I don't care at all.
It's freeing in a way I didn't know I needed.
I tip my head back slightly and close my eyes behind my sunglasses.
***
One minute I'm in the convertible with the wind in my hair and the highway opening up ahead of us.
Then Colt's hand is in my hair and he's dragging me while the world tilts sideways.
Fucking whore. You liked that, didn’t you? Him playing in your fucking hair. Did you come on his lap like a goddamn slut?
I scream. I fight. My hands come up and I'm clawing at his grip, but I can't get free. I can’t go back.
"Blaire! Fuck. Move. I need to pull over!"
Bennet's voice tries to find me in the haze. But it's like listening from underwater, everything muffled and distant, Colt's grip still so tight in my hair, the pavement coming up...
"Blaire!"
The road.
The car is stopped.
We're in the parking lot.
The engine is off.
I can’t breathe.
