He looks down at his feet, running his hand briskly over his shaved head. “Uh. Yeah. What about you? Staying or going?”
“I was supposed to meet someone. She didn’t show.” I point up the stairs. “I’ll stay if you stay.” It’s harder for guys sometimes. A tower of muscles like Dante... I don’t know what might have happened to him, but even I have to admit I’m looking at him and wondering how anyone could have hurt him. My heart pounds even imagining the struggle he must be having to get up the stairs.
He rubs the muscles in the back of his neck. Tight, thick cords, are covered in dots of what is probably nervous sweat. “You know, there’s a diner over in Pender. Makes the best milkshakes you ever had. Birthday-cake flavored. I could get you one, since it was your birthday a little while ago. I never got a chance to buy you a drink.”
I see what he’s doing. Anybody in the world would. I could call him on it, but he might bolt. I was there once. That moment where help is there, and you’re not quite ready to reach out and grab. It’s easier to believe all that touchy-feely shit is for other people who need it, but you’re not one of those people.
Not me. I’m fine.
I can see the words flashing in his eyes. So I pull my bag higher onto my shoulder and take a step down the stairs. “You know, a milkshake sounds really good.”
The relief on his face makes me want to cry. “Great. Let me take you out and show you a good time.” Like that, the cocky grin I saw on him in the bar is back in place. This is no long-term solution, but it’s nice to see him feeling better.
He clears his throat and leads the way out the back door to a curvy sports car. Sleek and silver and I’d almost even say sexy if I dared to use that word for an automobile. I’m not any kind of expert on cars, but I think it’s some kind of Porsche.
“Not a bad way to get around,” I murmur in awe. I try to calm the anxiety in my stomach, as I think of that pretty red sports car Jake offered to me. The poor, dead Volvo I’ve left sitting in the lot of his shop.
Every time I try to make a decision, I feel tied in knots.
“Thanks.” Dante opens the door for me, but doesn’t hold it while he goes around to his side. “I love this old girl. Needed a project after I was forced to take a break from fighting. Bought her all busted up and made her brand new. Your boy Jake helped me out.”
My boy? Was that supposed to be a figure of speech? “Yeah. He’s... good with cars.”
“So you two been together long? Can’t be long, right? I only got back to town a few months ago, but I don’t think I saw you until recently.”
Okay, so not a figure of speech. I press my lips together while we zip down the church’s snakelike drive and out toward the interstate, heading toward the supposedly nearby town of Pender with its diner of the awesome milkshakes. Granted, the way Dante is driving we could be getting milkshakes in Alaska and he’d have us there in a jiffy.
I tap my fingers on the window. Under ordinary circumstances I might’ve been tempted to let Dante have his assumptions. He’d come off as flirty at the bar, and thinking I’m attached could discourage such behavior. Now, it seems like maybe the dynamic between us has shifted, so I see no reason not to be honest. “I’m not sure what we are, but I don’t think I’d say we’re together.”
Complicated friends? Even that doesn’t sound quite right.
Dante makes a funny noise next to me. Something like a cough and a laugh. “That’s funny. He sure made it sound like you were his girl.”
I turn in my seat so fast the belt nearly slashes me across the neck. “He did?”
“Uh, yeah.” Dante laughs again. “In the pissing-a-ring-around-his-property kind of way, if you get my meaning.”
Oh, give me a break. He won’t even freaking kiss me, but he’s telling Dante we’re a thing? Not that I was all that interested in Dante, as much as this new side of him is warming me up. He’s sweet and friendly and gorgeous and I’m way too hung up on some jerkface who acts like he doesn’t want me. At least not to my face. That asshole.
Seriously. What an asshole. “What’s his damn problem?”
Dante slows the car and takes the next exit off the highway, concentrating for a moment. Maybe on where he’s going, or maybe on a thoughtful answer to my question. “I get it,” he says.
Oh. Good. At least one of us does. “Would you share, then? I’m still lost.” Really. God, I feel so lost. Exhaustion hits me. I woke up at five to work at the bakery and I have to do it again tomorrow. I ought to have gone home to bed. I remind myself that Dante needed a friend and what I’m doing here is important.