Tessa doesn’t seem to agree with Slipknot and reaches for my radio dial. Which takes a lot of fucking nerve.
“Don’t touch my radio.”
“If you’re going to be a jerk the whole time, I don’t want to hang out with you,” Tessa threatens. She pushes her back against the leather seat to make a dramatic point.
“I’m not. Just don’t touch my radio.”
I can barely breathe, and the noise is drowning out my panic. When I look over at her, she’s staring at the radio with an intense look of rage on her face. That breaks my mood and makes me want to laugh, though it’s probably not the best time for that.
“Why do you care if I go to the movies with Zed, anyway? Steph and Tristan were going, too,” Tessa says, sticking her chin out to underscore her point.
Oh, like a double date? Hello . . .
“I just don’t think Zed has the best intentions.” I don’t know what else to say, so I stare at the road.
After a thick moment of silence, Tessa begins to laugh. What the hell is wrong with her?
“Oh, and you do? At least Zed is nice to me.”
She’s still laughing. Zed is nice to her? Nice?
He’s betting against your virginity, sweetheart is something I can’t say, though.
Because I guess I am, too.
I stay quiet, and Tessa keeps her guard up. “Can you please turn it down?” she yells over the music.
I nod. I may as well get her in a little better of a mood.
“That music is terrible,” she complains. I knew she wouldn’t like it; I can tell by looking at her that she listens to a certain type of music. Opposite of mine.
I tap my fingers on the steering wheel and watch as Tessa absentmindedly does the same to her thighs.
“No, it’s not. Though I would love to know your opinion on what is good music.”
I smile at the thought of her CD player as a teen: ’N Sync, Jessica Simpson, and doubtless some of the horrendous girl groups Mother England spits out on the regular fills the entire thing.
“Well, I like Bon Iver, and the Fray,” she says after contemplating the matter for a few seconds.
“Of course you do.” One Christian-based band and one über-hipster band. Not remotely surprising.
Okay, sure, both make decent music—they just aren’t my thing. Not enough pain for me.
“What’s wrong with them? They’re insanely talented, and their music is wonderful.” She’s passionate with her answer. When my eyes meet hers, she turns away and stares out the window.
“Yeah . . . they are talented. Talented at putting people to sleep.”
Tessa reaches her hand out and playfully smacks my arm. It’s a strange thing I see couples doing all the time, but no one has ever done it to me.
“Well, I love them.” She smiles proudly. She seems to be having a decent time. “Where are we going?”
“To one of my favorite places.” I don’t give her an exact answer. She’s too nosy for her own good.
“Which is where?” She continues to push, like I knew she would. She’s too anal not to.
“You really have to know everything that’s going on in advance, don’t you?” I say, turning the tables on her.
“Yeah . . . I like to—” She begins to explain herself.
“Control everything?”
She’s silent.
I decide to let it go for now. I don’t want to push her too far. “Well, I’m not telling you until we get there . . . which will be only about five minutes from now.”
As we continue, Tessa looks around, confused. I can see her struggling to not ask me again. She’s trying to relax, and that makes this easier for me. After a couple of minutes, I notice she’s staring at the backseat.
“See something that you like back there?” I tease, and she shakes her head. A lock of her long hair falls down her shoulder, and she pushes it back. Her hair looks so soft. I wonder if she’s a natural blonde, and remembering what her mum looks like, I’d say she definitely is.
“What kind of car is this?” she asks, staring down at her cloth shoe.
“Ford Capri—a classic,” I tell her. I love my car more than my own self, and I’m proud as fuck to have it. Tessa engages lightly in the conversation as I tell her about the restored engine and newly quieted exhaust. She smiles and nods along, and even though I can tell she’s lost, it’s oddly nice to talk to an actual human. After a few minutes, I glance down at her again, and she’s staring straight into me. I feel a pressure building on the back of my neck, creeping down my spine.
Too close. She’s getting too close. It’s a game, Hardin. Treat her as a piece of it.
“I don’t like to be stared at.” I try to keep a straight face.
She’s so curious, and I’m realizing I’m liking it more than I should.
sixteen
I drive down one last narrow road and park toward the end of the small gravel patch nestled between a group of massive trees. I love it out here; no one ever comes here, and that’s perfect for me. Especially on a nice, rare day like today when it’s not raining in the Olympic Peninsula. The dead sky is one thing I’ve been used to since growing up in Hampstead; the sun is a rare sighting most fall days.
Tessa glances around the area, then her eyebrows draw together.
“Don’t worry, I didn’t bring you out here to kill you,” I say, attempting to evoke a laugh from her as we get out of the car.
She stares toward the field of yellow wildflowers, and her shoulders slightly relax. What is she thinking?
“What are we going to do here?” she asks me.
“Well, first, a bit of walking.”
Tessa sighs and follows me down the dirt that used to be a grass path. She looks miserable already. What was I thinking? “Not too much walking.”
She doesn’t trust me, and she seems to be in a bad mood today. Go figure. When is she not? I focus my attention on the cloud of dust that my boots make when they hit the dry, dusty trail. Tessa’s steps are nearly silent, and she’s incredibly slow.
“Well, if we hurry, we may make it before sundown,” I tease her when we reach a tree with an old, abandoned bicycle tied to it. It’s the halfway marker, and the walk is about a mile. Not too bad. Tessa slows down, but her face when we reach the water is worth every wasted moment. She gasps a little, as if this simple stream in the middle of the woods is magical. Her lips lift and her eyes go wide.