“I did. You didn’t listen.” His hand is still on my leg. I’m betting he doesn’t realize it, and I’m not going to be the one to say anything. I like the way it feels, and if I speak up about it, he might take it away. It anchors and comforts me when I feel like I might otherwise fly away in this insanely amazing car.
“You did not explain it that way before.” I stick out my tongue again. I don’t know if he’s looking, and I don’t care. It’s nice to be a little juvenile.
The hand on my leg gives another quick squeeze. “I did. You got all anxious and trigger happy, that’s all.”
“I was not ‘trigger happy.’” I hold up one hand to make air quotes, and he grabs my fingers.
“Ah-ah. Hands on the wheel, newbie.”
I slap his hand with mine, but I laugh again. Harder. God, it’s almost like the night before, with all the crying and whatnot, never happened. Or maybe this new comfort level is because of what happened. I told him some things. He told me some things. Maybe we trust each other now?
I don’t trust easily, but being with Jake is like curling up with a mug of hot chocolate or my guitar in a really great patch of sunlight. In spite of how we met, I can’t imagine anything more effortless. Every time I think about how good being with him feels, a wave of sadness washes through the whole experience.
No matter how good this is, it’s all going to be over so soon.
“Turn in up here.” Jake taps the back of his hand against my shoulder to get my attention, and points to a place where the shoulder of the road slopes off into a wide, grassy bank. “You can park for now. When we leave it’ll be good practice for you, getting off the slope.”
“Super.” I say it full of sarcasm, but I’m honestly curious about where we are. It looks like nothing but a huge, grassy field stretching out between two rows of trees. “What is this place, the UFO airstrip?”
He chuckles and we get out of the car. He pops the trunk, pulling out a couple of sodas and wrapped sandwiches. “Hungry?”
I’m on the verge of saying no when my stomach pipes up and grumbles. “I guess it is awfully late. Thanks.”
He drops to the grass and pats a spot next to him. “Turkey and Swiss, or tomato and mozzarella?”
“Tomato and mozzarella, please. And thank you.”
For a moment we’re both quiet, watching the dusky evening settle into darkness while sandwich wrappers crinkle and soda tabs crack and hiss. Part of me wants to say a lot of things, like ask if his opinion of me has changed. Maybe I don’t want an answer.
Part of me thinks I’m happier sitting here in the near-dark with Jake’s shoulder against mine than I’ve ever been in my life. I don’t want to let anything, not even words, interrupt this moment. Still, as the fireflies come out to play and the silence drags on, it seems like someone has to say something. So I do. “It’s nice up here,” I say. “I kind of can’t believe there aren’t a ton of high school kids trying to make out and smoke pot.”
When in doubt, make a joke. Right?
He laughs. “Yeah, I think they all do that down in that wooded area at the park. Not enough cover here.” He points toward a spot in the distance. “Hard to see it now that it’s getting dark, but there’s an electrical tower down there. I think that’s why this strip of grass is here. For maintenance access.”
“So how do you know about it? Or is electrical technician also on your job history?”
He chuckles. “Nah. I found this place driving around one night a few months after I first moved to the area. It’s always been a good place to sit and think.” He turns toward me. Even in the dark, I can sense the seriousness on his face. “I don’t sleep well. So I drive around a lot.”
Jake. “That sounds...”
“What?”
“Lonely.” I shrug my shoulder against his. I was trying to come up with a nicer way to say it, something that didn’t sound so sad. It does, though. It sounds like a sad thing to do, driving around in the middle of the night trying to get tired enough to sleep. Not to mention dangerous. Not that I have any room to talk about insomnia.
His hand barely touches the edge of my jaw. “It’s how I found you that night. Damn good thing, too. God knows what would have happened.”
“I could have taken care of myself.”
“I’m glad you didn’t have to.”
Honestly, so am I. Leaving Ohio was supposed to be about proving I could be on my own. Like AJ said though, sometimes it’s nice to have help. I lay back in the grass and pillow my head on my hands. “I guess I’m not used to having any help.”