Weird.
“Yeah, four hours.” He drums his fingers against the steering wheel, drawing my attention to them. They’re long, his nails are blunt with no dirt beneath them. Strong, clean hands with wide palms. They look…kind.
Scowling, I shake my head. I’m thinking stupid when I need to think clear.
“I’ve never been to Carmel before.” I’m trying to make conversation because the thought of driving this long and not talking sort of freaks me out.
“It’s pretty. Expensive.” He shrugs, turning my attention to his shoulders. He’s wearing a blue and dark gray flannel shirt over a black T-shirt and it’s a good look for him.
God. I turn away, keep my eyes glued on the window as the scenery passes by. I need to stop looking at him. He’s distracting as hell.
“So, we probably need to come up with some sort of story, right?” I sneak a glance at him like I can’t help myself. With my luck, this four hour car ride is gonna fly and then the next thing I know, I’m coming face to face with his polished parents and I won’t know what to say.
In other words, I need as much time as I can get to come up with a thorough plan with Drew so we sound like a real couple.
“Yeah. A history would be good.” He nods, never taking his eyes off the road.
Which is a good thing, I tell myself. He’s a safe driver, aware of everything going on around him.
But really I wish he would look at me. Offer a smile of reassurance. Hell, even a fake, ‘it’s going to be all right’ would make me happy right about now.
I get none of that. No thank you either.
Bogus.
“Well.” I clear my throat, because I’m plunging into the cold water despite his wanting to linger safely on the shore. “How long have we been dating?”
“Start of school sounds good, I think.”
His nonchalance makes me want to choke him. “Six months then?” I’m testing him by throwing that out there. And it works.
He slides me an incredulous look. “Three.”
“Oh.” I nod. “Right. Well, like I know since I don’t go to school anymore.” Stupidest answer ever. Everyone knows when school starts.
“Why don’t you?”
I didn’t expect him to ask me that. Figured he really didn’t care. “I can’t afford it and I wasn’t smart enough to get a scholarship.” Like I could waste my time with school at the moment anyway. I work as much as I can get. I used to have a fulltime job, but that fell through little less than a year ago. I put in as many hours as I can waitressing at both La Salle’s and at another tiny Mexican restaurant not too far from our apartment but that’s more a temporary thing. They only call me in when they’re understaffed.
The money sitting in my checking account thanks to Drew will ease some of that burden, at least for a little while. I didn’t put it in the account I share with my mom because I know the second she realizes that much money’s in there, she’ll blow it.
I can’t take that chance.
“How’d we meet then?” Drew’s deep voice breaks through my thoughts. I wish he would take the initiative and come up with some of this story.
“The bar,” I suggest because it sounds so trashy and I figure the only reason he’s bringing me is because he wants to look like he’s slumming it to his uppity family. “You came in with a bunch of friends and it was love at first sight the moment our eyes met.”
He sends me a look that calls bullshit and I smile in return. If I’m in control of making up this story, I’m going to make it the sappiest, most romantic thing out there.
There is no room for romance in my life. It’s so stupid, but I let guys use me because for that one fleeting moment, when he’s focusing all of his attention on me and no one else, it feels good. It helps me forget that no one really cares.
The second it’s over, it’s like I snap out of my mental fog and I feel cheap. Dirty. All those clichés you read about in books and see on TV or movies, that’s me. I am a walking cliché.
I’m also the town slut whose not as slutty as everyone thinks she is—again, another cliché. And I’m definitely not the girl you want to take home to impress your mama. There is nothing special about me.
Yet here’s Drew taking me home to impress his mama. Or more accurately, freak his mama out. I’m sure I’m that rich bitch’s (now I sound like Owen, from broke bitch to rich bitch) every nightmare come to life. The moment she lays eyes on me, she’s going to flip.
“I’m assuming you’re bringing me home to your mom so she’ll lose her shit, right?” I need confirmation. It’s one thing to think it and be okay with it. I need to face the facts head on and deal with the repercussions later. Like how this might screw with my head despite how much I need that money.