I widened my eyes but kept my gaze on him. “Yes? Or no?”
He gave me a look I couldn’t interpret. “Could you give me a ride?”
Could I…?
An extra-nice person wouldn’t have asked where, but I had to get to work. “Where to?” I asked slowly.
“I believe it’s called Garden Oaks,” was his answer. “Do you know where that is?”
Of course I did. Marc and I worked there every other week usually. Garden Oaks was a nice neighborhood not exactly too far or too close by; and it was just that: a neighborhood. A quiet sort of expensive neighborhood—at least for my taste, and the exact area where I’d picked him up from the bar. It wasn’t where the super-wealthy resided. On my income there was no way I could ever afford to live there unless I had five other roommates.
I smiled in response and nodded, pushing away my curiosity at what exactly he was doing in Garden Oaks. “Okay. Come on.”
He gave me a curious look but didn’t ask anything. Instead he got into the passenger seat, wordless and stiff. As soon as he was in, I was pulling out of the parking lot.
Was I taking him home?
The only answer to my mental question was silence, obviously. I hadn’t used the radio in forever and hadn’t plugged in my phone to the car’s stereo system in the distraction of having Reiner Kulti in my car. My dad was probably going to shit his pants when I told him.
Damn it. Poop. Poop. Poop.
I cleared my throat and made sure to keep my eyes on the road. “Do you need to call a towing company or something? I have a service on my phone in case of car trouble you could use.”
His attention was focused on the view outside the window. “No.”
All right. “Are you sure? I don’t mind.”
“I said no,” he replied forcefully enough that I felt it in my chest.
Jesus freaking Christ. All I was trying to do was help. What a prick.
Suddenly angry with myself for making an effort to be nice to someone who obviously didn’t want it, I clenched my mouth and kept my eyes forward.
This was exactly what I got for trying. Why did I even bother anymore? Sure, he’d been nice to my dad by making up for being a freaking bag of nasty dildos, and he’d gotten me out of my crap with Cordero and given me a couple of tips on how to improve some playing skills, but it wasn’t enough. Not everyone was like this. I’d been nice to thousands of people in my life, and most didn’t act like pricks.
Especially not ones that I’d idolized.
Embarrassment at being snapped at made a knot form in my throat as I got on the freeway. For a second, I thought about turning on the radio to avoid the awkwardness that had settled in the car, but I didn’t. I hadn’t done anything wrong, and it wasn’t me who deserved to feel awkward. He did.
“What exit should I take?” I asked in a controlled voice when we were close enough.
He answered.
I exited and then asked whether to turn right or left.
Step by step, I asked him to tell me when to turn again and he did. What lane to get in, he told me. Two more turns and I was driving my car down a street I had a client on. Go figure.
Right before an immaculately landscaped two-floor modern monstrosity that seemed to take up two lots, Kulti gestured. “Here.”
I pulled the car closer to the curb and stopped, keeping my eyes forward; it was immature. I didn’t have to do that. I didn’t have to let him know that what he’d said bothered me, but I couldn’t help it. In hindsight later on, I’d curse myself for letting him see that he’d upset me, but right then I couldn’t stop myself. I just kept staring out the windshield.
I waited patiently, hands gripping the steering wheel gently.
He didn’t move. He didn’t get out. He didn’t say anything.
I didn’t look at him or ask him to get out of my car. I just waited. I could wait. I wasn’t impatient. Chin up and face relaxed, I out-waited him for what seemed like five minutes but was probably only thirty seconds.
Finally he reached for the handle and got out. There wasn’t a sigh or an apology out of his mouth, or even a freaking thank you for the ride.
The minute the door was closed, I pulled away. I didn’t peel out or act like a jackass as I tried to get away; I got back on the street and on the way to work like he hadn’t just hurt my feelings.
But he had, a little.
It was enough that I didn’t give a single shit about whether the big house in the family neighborhood was his or not. I didn’t even bother telling my dad about it.
* * *
“…like this,” he said in that deep voice with a hint of a watered-down accent in it.
I blinked at the ball on the ground and nodded. “Okay.”