She was afraid of the answer, but in her heart, she knew exactly what it was. Never mind that it was truly insane to be considering such a thing when her friends were being held captive by an insane warlock, when she’d only met Alex the day before yesterday. What did she know about him, really? A few things about his family, about where he worked and how a few of his dreams had been thwarted. She knew he was attracted to her. But how deep did that attraction go? As deeply as hers did?
They’d passed through the outskirts of Palm Springs, and Caitlin had barely noticed, she was so preoccupied. It wasn’t until they crested a hill some miles past the desert town, and the bright, glittering lights of the inland suburbs were laid out before them, that she realized how much ground they’d covered. Surely it couldn’t be that much farther to Pasadena.
But it was, as mile after mile passed by in the dark, the freeways around them widening and yet at the same time growing more and more congested, even though it was far past what she would have thought of as rush hour.
She must have let out a sigh, because Alex said, “Not too much more. Maybe another half hour.”
Half an hour until she was alone with him in a hotel room. So many thoughts and questions had been chasing themselves around in her head, she couldn’t keep them straight anymore. She nodded, then blurted out the first thing that rose to the surface of her mind. “So what’s with your house, anyway? Does being a store manager really pay that much?”
Even though he’d been keeping his eyes on the road pretty much the whole time, he swiveled his head toward her and gave her a startled glance. “Um…what?”
“I’m sorry,” she said at once, mentally kicking herself. Yes, she’d been wondering about the house ever since the first time she set foot in it, but did she really need to have asked that question? “It just — I’m a dork. Never mind.”
He actually grinned. “I don’t think you’re a dork.” Something in the way he said the words sounded almost like a caress, and Caitlin found herself daring to hope that maybe she hadn’t completely screwed up. “Actually, I suppose it’s sort of an obvious question. My grandfather — my dad’s dad — passed away a few years ago. He left each of us grandkids a chunk of money. So I bought the house…and this car.” Even in the darkness, she could see the teasing glint in his eyes. “Are you after me for my money, Caitlin?”
“Very funny,” she retorted, and he chuckled, albeit somewhat grimly.
“Wouldn’t be the first time.”
She wondered who those other girls had been, the ones who’d seen a guy in his mid-twenties with a solid job and a house that was already paid for, and thought he was a great prospect. Obviously, none of them had gotten their claws into him, but still. Alex was an amazing person. The house and everything else didn’t even factor into it. Caitlin knew she’d feel the same way about him even if he was living in a crappy studio apartment and driving a ten-year-old pickup truck.
“Don’t worry,” she told him. “We McAllisters may not be as rich as the Wilcoxes, but we do okay. I get my own stipend every month — and I work two part-time jobs. I’m completely self-sustaining.”
“Two?” he said. “And go to school full-time?”
“Well, I tutor, so that’s not like going to a regular job, and the other one is only ten to fifteen hours a week. It’s not like I’m doing a full-time gig or anything.” She knew she should leave it at that, and forced herself to keep from mentioning her other source of income.
“Still.” He seemed to think for a moment. “I put in a few hours a week at the store while I was in college, but that was it. My parents didn’t want anything interfering with my education.”
“You were doing a double major. It makes sense that you wouldn’t have much time left over for a job.”
“I suppose.” Another one of those quick glances in her direction before he returned his focus to the busy freeway around them. “What are you majoring in, anyway?”
“English.” Utterly boring, she knew.
“Really? What do you want to do — teach?”
“If I have to. But really” —she took in a breath, deciding she would tell him and see if he laughed— “really, I want to be a writer.”
“Seriously?” Someone cut right in front of him, so he didn’t have the luxury of looking over at her. In fact, she thought she heard him mutter a curse in Spanish under his breath before he went on, “What kind of writer?”