don’t know me. You don’t know why I’m in Seattle, or the type of guys I’m into, or what makes me tick. You know the fraction of the me you’ve seen in your kitchen and on some viral video. You think you’ve got me all figured out? Let me make myself clear.” I lean forward, keeping my tray between us so it dents his chest when I push against him. “You have no idea.”
With that, I leave my tray on the counter, swoop down to grab my purse beneath the bar, and walk out to the street. I open my phone to text Monica so I can get the hell out of here, except my cell service proves to be shit in this area.
Desmond is beside me before I can try to connect to the club’s WiFi. His arm brushes my shoulder without him throwing me a glance. “I’ll give you a lift.”
I may have an adverse reaction to Desmond, but his offer is a kind one. “Thanks, but Monica should be on her way.”
There’s a beat of silence before Desmond sticks his hands in his pockets and leans forward on his toes. “Actually…Monica asked if I could bring you home since I’d already be here.” His gaze slides to me and then his dimple appears. “I know, I know. Trust me, I warned her it wouldn’t go down well, but I’m willing to take one for the team. Are you?”
I cringe and sigh. “Fine. But you realize I’m staying with Monica in Bellevue, right?”
“Yup. Hop in the front. I’ll shove these lugs in the back.” He nods toward a large black Escalade with fancy rims and trim. Desmond smirks as if reading my mind. “It’s Balko’s. He let me borrow it so I could drive his ass around tonight.”
I accept that, slide into the front seat, and buckle in. Next thing I know, a group of large bodies and boisterous voices climb into the two rows behind me.
Desmond makes three stops, the last one being Balko’s house, where he has to practically carry the football player into his home. Then we trade Balko’s SUV for a red vintage car.
“What are you doing with a fifty-eight Ford Fairlane convertible?”
Desmond looks over at me while he pulls open the passenger door. I just impressed him. Who knew it would be so easy?
“What do you know about vintage cars?”
I shrug. “A little.”
Once upon a time, my dad used to have a car just like this one. It had the same sleek body style, cherry-red exterior, and everything. It brings back every bit of nostalgia from my childhood in a simple glance.
I slide into the red seat and inhale the scent of its aged leather like it’s my first time breathing. I slide my fingers along the front dash while the picture-perfect memories compound. My mom with her hair wrapped in a scarf and a smile on her face. Monica and I holding hands in the back seat with our noses to the wind and giggling into the breeze. I still remember the feeling of pride that felt heavy in my chest for having the perfect family—a father who could provide, a mother who was the most beautiful woman on earth in my eyes, and a little sister who was attached to my every move.
If anyone had asked me then if we would stay that way forever, my answer would have undoubtedly been yes. We should have never fallen apart.
I’m inhaling the car deeply as Desmond starts to drive. My thoughts are so deeply buried in the past that I almost forget I’m sitting next to a man I despise. But he doesn’t let too much time go by before reminding me of his presence. Clearing his throat, he manages to pull my eyes to him.
“Humor me with your car knowledge. Help me get to know the girl who hates to cook.”
I smile at that and sink back into the seat, letting my instinctual anger toward the man to my left dissolve momentarily. “My dad was obsessed with vintage cars. He used to take my family out driving every weekend in a car just like this.” A cloud pushed into my mind and hovered over my thoughts, darkening them before I could catch myself. “But that was before…”
Desmond’s hand curled around the wheel, and his almost-smile darkened at my words. “Ah, I see.”
The casual tone of his acceptance stirs something in my chest, something dark and ugly. I should just keep my mouth