Another nod.
“And it takes place every year?”
An affirmative grunt.
If he didn’t start talking, saying anything, I wouldn’t jump out of the moving car; I’d be pushing him out.
“And …” I needed a question that wouldn’t strictly require a yes or no answer. “How are the funds going to be raised?”
He seemed to consider that for a long moment, almost making me believe I’d really have to shove him out.
“An auction.”
Finally. “What’s being auctioned?” I fidgeted with the simple gold cuff bracelet that circled my wrist, waiting for an answer that never came. “Is it art?” I turned the smooth piece of jewelry around. “Golf lessons?” Another turn. “A yacht?” I looked at him. Nothing. No answer. “Elvis’s underwear?”
That got me a reaction. He sent me a puzzled look and then returned his attention to the road.
“What?” I shrugged one shoulder. “I’ll have you know that someone auctioned a dirty pair of undies Elvis had worn to a concert in the ’70s.”
I watched Aaron’s head shake. Mr. Proper was probably scandalized, but he was still not talking, so I kept
filling in the silence.
“Chill. Nobody bought them.” I studied his profile for any reaction. Still nothing. “Or bid for them,” I corrected myself. “I don’t know much, if anything, about auctions.” More silence. O-kay. “But the conclusion was that, apparently, no one wanted Elvis’s used underwear.” I snickered. “Which, frankly, it sort of strengthened my faith in society. Not all is lost yet, right?”
A muscle in his jaw jumped.
“Who would want to own something like that? And what’s even more daunting, what for? To frame it?” A grimace bent my lips. “Imagine being invited to a home and finding a dirty pair of underwear framed, hanging above the sofa. Or the toilet.”
Aaron shot me a quick glance, something that looked a lot like wonder filling his eyes. Then, he finally spoke, “I never know with you, you know?”
And that’s what he decided to go with?
“You never know what?” Frowning, I watched his head give another light shake.
“I never know what’s going to come out of your mouth.” His voice sounded almost thoughtful. “You always find a way to catch me completely off guard. And that’s not something many people can do.”
Uh …
What was I supposed to do with that? Was that … a compliment? I had been rambling about Elvis’s used underwear hanging in somebody’s living room, so I was going to go with no. Not a compliment. Plus, this was Aaron we were talking about, so double no.
“Well, I have more fun facts for you, if that’s what you want,” I offered with a smile. “Of all kinds, not only underwear-related.”
“Of course you do,” he muttered.
“Unless you want to use this precious time to, I don’t know, give me some kind of context about tonight.” I waited one, two, three seconds. Once more, he seemed to fall silent when I asked. “You could maybe explain to me why I’m here, pretending to be your date. That’s a good start.”
His fingers gripped the steering wheel tighter; it was hard to miss because, well, I had been carefully watching him for the last couple of minutes.
And yet, he was still not talking.
I frowned, starting to feel frustrated in a way that wasn’t very charitable. “You said you would tell me everything if I agreed to come.”
“I did say that, didn’t I?”
“Yep,” I answered, not getting why he was being so … privy. Although that was just how Aaron was, wasn’t it? It shouldn’t have surprised me.
I watched his hands move up along the steering wheel, the action tensing the fabric of his tux jacket. As I was unable not to notice how his arms filled the sleeves, my mind wandered away for an instant, this weird sensation I had experienced back in the apartment returning.