“Yes, you are.” I say smoothly. “You have been for a while. I would’ve said something sooner, but you know how much I like having your eyes on me.”
Her cheeks turn a deep crimson and she grimaces as she crosses her arms over her chest. “I’m not staring, you egomaniac. I was just zoning out and thinking.”
“About me?” I ask, giving her a sidelong glance as I tap my thumbs against the steering wheel.
“Actually,” she says, narrowing her eyes at me, “I was thinking about how twisted the universe is. I mean, why else would it give such a pretty face to someone as narcissistic as you? It has to be some kind of cruel cosmic joke.”
I glance at her and smile. “It’s even prettier when you’re sitting on it.”
Her eyes flare, and the sound that comes out of her mouth is a mix between a laugh and a choke.
“What is wrong with you?” She manages. “You can’t just say things like that.”
“Why not?”
“Because it should be kept private.”
“It’s just us in here, Bambi.”
“Still, there are rules?—”
“Not ones I agreed to.”
She turns in her seat to glare at me, trying hard to look angry and failing miserably at it. “You are deranged.”
“And yet, you still want me around.”
“When did I say that?”
“You invited me to breakfast.”
“A momentary slip of judgement.”
Her words sink in, and for some reason they hit harder than I expected. For a second, I sit there, unsure of what to say. I know we’re giving each other shit, that this is what we always do to each other, but I can’t help but wonder if that’s what she really thinks.
“Is that what last night was, too?” I ask. Trying not to sound as invested in her answer as I am. “A mistake?”
“No.” She says quickly, uncrossing her arms as her voice takes on a much softer tone. “I’m glad you were there.”
I clench my jaw and stare out at the road ahead to keep my expression from doing anything I’ll regret. “I am too.”
The silence that follows is filled with words neither of us are willing to say out loud.
Our exit approaches in the distance, and I quietly shift into the right lane. I’m supposed to be taking her back to her bookstore. Back to her normal routine, and to the walls she’s so carefully built around herself. Back to the version of her that won’t let anyone see what she showed me today.
I clench my jaw and squeeze the steering wheel until my knuckles lose their color.
I’m not ready to go back yet.
I might not ever be.
I press my foot against the accelerator, and the exit that leads us back to Better Than Fiction comes and goes. Bambi catches it immediately.
“You missed the exit.”
“I know.”
She turns her head towards me and arches an eyebrow. “Are you going to take the next one?”
