Page 66 of Okay, Cupid

“I could give you a ride.”

“You drove here?”

“Yeah. Don’t you have a jacket?” he asks me.

“I … no … it was warmer when I got here.”

“Jesus, Jude. It’s freezing out.”

“I know.” I turn my gaze to my knees, tucking closer into myself. I don’t know what it is, but something about his tone makes me feel ashamed. I don’t even realize that he’s placing something over me until he already has, when a shadow falls over me and I feel something heavier on my shoulders, the soft texture of the corduroy under my fingers.

“You’re going to catch a cold,” he says as he slips his jacket over me.

“But you—you’re not cold?”

“I’ll be fine.” He smiles at me, those dimples making another appearance. “Besides, I’m parked a block away, I’ll survive. Let’s go.”

“You don’t have to take me home,” I tell him. I don’t want to pull his jacket in closer, but it smells like him, and it’s so warm.

“I know I don’t have to.” His voice is calm. “I want to.”

Huy offers me his hand.

“Now, don’t make this more difficult than it has to be. My mom raised me to be stubborn, and I will get my way.”

I can tell there’s no winning tonight. So, I take his hand, and let him hoist me into the air with him. For the second time in one night, our chests almost collide as he picks me up. He lets out this low laugh as he saves me again, staring down at me. It’d be so easy to steal a kiss right now, to ruin my entire life in just a single move. What is wrong with me? To know that I’m so willing to do that for a boy who can’t love me back, who isn’t allowed to love me back.

• • •

Huy doesn’t say another word until we’re in his truck. He cranks the heat to high, which doesn’t do a lot, and he apologizes for it before he asks me how I liked the mixtape that he gave me.

“It was good,” I tell him. “It was hard to keep track without the artists on the paper. I liked that one where the girl screams at the end.”

“Phoebe?” he asks.

“I think so?”

“Let’s see.” Huy reaches down between my legs once again, digging for his backpack. “If you like Pheebs, then you’ll like …” He seems to shuffle around for a moment before he finally plucks out another tape and hands it to me.

“ ‘The Depression Mix,’ ” I read out.

“Phoebe, Car Seat Headrest, Sufjan Stevens, Japanese Breakfast, Clairo.”

“Your basic white cis depressive starter pack.”

“You know, Noah made the exact same joke.” Huy finally shifts the truck into drive. “Just goes to show you lack originality. And Michelle Zauner is Korean.”

“Well, we both already knew that I’m not original.” I pull the jacket closer around me. It smells of ginger, orange.

It’s like a punishment.

With how little traffic there is, it only takes him ten minutes to get back to my apartment. Far too quickly for me, and yet every second passes by in a terribly sweet agony, the radio mimicking my feelings as a girl sings about love.

“So.” Huy stops at a rare red light. “Do we need to chat about why you were crying?”

“Huh?” I ask like I didn’t hear him.

“You were crying when I came outside. But we don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”