Like maybe I’m pouring all of my interest into her subconsciously as a way of forcing myself to move on.
Like maybe I’m using her and I don’t even fucking know it.
Jett flings his giraffe, and it just so happens to land in my lap. Pinching it so as not to coat my hands in his slobber, I hand it back to him, earning myself a two-toothed grin that makes my chest swell.
I’m not using her. It’s real for me.
“Hardly,” she says, after diverting her focus to a four-way stop wherein no one was taking their turn, and she had to wait it out. “I only have one really good friend.” She bites into her bottom lip, chewing it for a moment as we wait at a red light. When her eyes venture back to the rearview, she says, “I lost all of my other friends in the divorce.”
Divorce.
The word means nothing to me in the context of my life. My father was never married to my mother–therefore, they were never divorced. I am not a product of divorce nor have I been divorced.
But the way her face seems to melt at just the mention of the seven-letter word, I know it bears weight to her. The weight of the world, even. Her thing bigger than her scary skeleton.
“I’m sorry about your divorce,” I say because I know I need to say something, but I don’t know what to say. I don’t want to offend her by saying what I really want to say, which isI’m glad you’re divorced because you’re hot as fuck and sweet, and your son is adorable. and I want to fucking know you but I couldn’t if you had a ring on.
Her lips curl downward before she gives a very unconvincing shrug. “Thanks. But, he was a jackhole, so, it’s fine.”
Was or is? And by the way she’s forcing the effort behind these words, I can’t help but wonder, is she hung up on her divorce?
“How, uh, how long have you been… the big D?”
She swallows. I don’t know what territory is allowed here, and I’m greedy for all of it. I want to be the fucking conqueror and emperor of all things Beck. But I know that will take time. And luck.
“About a year.”
“Not long.” I wanted to hear its been ages, to give myself some false security I don’t deserve and haven’t earned. But then again, Jett is young. Beck doesn’t strike me as a woman who gets divorced then knocked up by her rebound guy. Of course, the divorce has to be relatively new.
Either way–whether she’s caught on him or over him–I want to make my intentions clear. I’ve gone a year directionless and I had no clue how exhausting it was until I realized one direction. Beck.
She dances her eyebrows playfully, rerouting the conversation before I can. “Anyway, I would hope the big D in my life is an actual big D, not divorce.”
I blink, because sexy ass Beck just brought up cock in a subtle way and I wasn’t expecting it. Her face morphs to pure mortification, going red as she slaps her palm over her mouth, clearly wishing she could shove the joke back down. But she can’t, and I fucking love that she said it.
“I cannot believe I just said that.” She waves her hand to the left, indicating a manual rewind. “Let’s go back to the secondbeforeI said that.”
Now’s my chance, when she’s aching to change the subject. The smile from her dirty mouth falls away when I clear my throat.
“Hey, Beck.”
Startled, she brings her gaze to mine through the rearview. “Yeah?”
“Will you go on a date with me?”
For a moment, I think she’s going to respond right away. Then her mouth snaps shut as Jett flings his giraffe at me again. I hand it back to him with care, but my eyes return to his mom quickly.
“No,” she finally says, but because it took her a while to spit the word out, part of me doesn’t believe she really wants to say no. I just need to figure out why and then get her to change her mind.
“I’m gonna be respectful of your answer, but you should know, I’m going to call you as my driver every day until you say yes.”
“You arenotgoing to ask me out daily,” she deadpans, not meeting my eyes in the mirror. She seems… doubtful or irritated, neither of which I want her to be.
“I won’t ask you out every day, but I will call you for a ride every day. I’ll ask intermittently. And I can tell you with all certainty that the eleven minutes to work and the eleven minutes home from work will undoubtedly be the best twenty-two minutes of my day.”
Her eyes flash to mine, and now that her cheeks are flush, a tiny smattering of freckles appear on the bridge of her nose.
I continue since she remains quiet.