When I finally force myself outside, I stare at my car like I’ve never seen it before. I only saw it under the streetlights last night, and I took a cab to Ash’s house because I knew I’d need lots of alcohol to make it through the date. I was right.
In the daylight, I can see the extreme makeover so much better.
Even the small scratches and shopping cart dents are gone. I half expect a sparkling effect to start up at any moment. I walk around it, noting all the added details. He had to have spent a small fortune on this.
Why? Why do all of this? And he said I was driving him fucking crazy. Well, he’s frigging driving me insane.
It takes me a minute, but I finally get into the front seat, smiling when I see that it’s all the way back, and I adjust it so that I can reach the pedals. I can’t believe this. He gave me leather upholstery? Real leather? And it feels so good. I swear it almost has a new car smell.
There’s a touchscreen panel on the dash that I can assume must control my air and radio, since the old turn dials and radio system are missing. Tears fill my eyes. He completely changed my entire car for the better.
I laugh when my car cranks on the first try. It usually takes a few key turns to start it, and it purrs instead of squealing like it’s in pain. When I shift it into drive, I almost break the gear stick. Normally it’s so hard to put into place, but now it just glides almost too easily.
I can’t help but giggle, and a tear escapes my grasp. Pulling away from the curb is so easy because the steering is so much better. Everything is better. The rear isn’t shaking when I try to tap the brakes. Brakes! They’re not screeching!
I almost do a happy dance when my car stops without sliding a few extra feet. It’s a whole new car. The radio starts playing, but it’s all in Spanish. I glare at it for a second when I reach the stop sign.
Every time I try to change the station, a box pops up and asks for the password. He did this on purpose, and I can’t stop smiling.
Rye. I have to go talk to him. I refuse to let one kiss screw up our friendship. And there’s something else I want to do.
***
RYE
“I’ve got five-hundred dollars here, but I know that’s nowhere close to covering it, so I’ll make monthly payments,” Brin says, sounding very close, and I almost jump out of my damn seat.
Where the hell did she come from? And how long has she been in my office?
“Um... I told you it was on me,” I say lamely, cringing at how juvenile I feel in this moment.
Her hair is pulled back, her shorts are too short for me to ignore, and her shirt is tighter than usual. She would go buy fucking clothes that fit the moment I start having issues.
“No,” she says, putting an envelope on the table. “I don’t want you doing me any favors. I can pay you back. It might take me a while, but I don’t like owing people anything.”
She might as well slap me. This is all because I ruined things between us.
“I’m not taking your damn money, and if you try paying me, I’ll never talk to you again.”
I push the envelope back across the desk, and she glares at me. Christ, I love it when she’s angry.
I’m twisted.
“It’s not like you want to ever talk to me again anyway. You kissed me and ran off like I had some disease. Which I don’t, by the way.”
Fuck. We’re apparently going to talk about this now. Here. And I’m not ready.
“I’m sure you don’t,” I mutter dryly. “But I’m sort of at work. Can we talk about this later?”
“No,” she says with a shrug, pushing the envelope back toward me again. “Because you won’t be talking to me later. I’m paying you back.”
She moves to the far corner, putting distance between us when her hands start to tremble. I really don’t want to do this right now.
Jessica walks in, wearing a dress she must have been poured into, and Brin’s eyes go to her, appraising her. I know what she’s thinking right now because I see it in her eyes. And Jessica doesn’t even notice the corner Brin is in.
“Your lunch meeting is in twenty minutes, Mr. Clanton,” Jessica says with a baby voice. Why do girls talk in a baby voice on purpose? Wouldn’t that only appeal to a pedophile?
“Thanks,” I say quickly, hoping she gets the hint to leave.