I stay upright, putting lots of pressure on his shoulder with the heel of my hand to maintain this unnatural position. We pass half a dozen couples on the way to the car. Bancroft is extra pleasant with them, asking them how their evening is going, wishing them a nice night, commenting on the weather. And the entire time his thumb is disturbingly close to my girl parts, which don't seem to recognize that this situation is likely not going to lead to fun things.
Less than a minute later Bancroft is carrying me through a parking lot. It's dodgy, as is the rest of this neighborhood, but the lot has an attendant. He stares at us as we pass by. Bancroft lifts his hand in a wave and I just roll my eyes.
I'm a little disturbed by the fact that not one person we've passed has asked if I'm okay. Just because Bancroft is hot and well-dressed doesn't mean he's not kidnapping me. I suppose if I was putting up more of a fight it might help.
He sets me down beside his truck. It beeps and the lights flash, he reaches around me to open the door. I'm facing him so it hits me in the butt.
I cross my arms over my chest. "That was completely unnecessary."
"I disagree. Would you like to get in the truck now, Ruby?"
"Not particularly, no."
Bancroft gives me a tight smile.
"Will you please get in before a group of thugs swarm us and tries to steal you?"
"No one is going to steal me."
He steps in rather close. "If I was a thug, I would steal you."
Well now, that's a little disconcerting. "Why would anyone want to steal me?"
"Will you please just get in the truck?"
I hate it when people answer questions with more questions. Evasiveness is annoying. As if I have a right to complain about evasiveness. "Well, if you'd give me some space maybe I could."
He wraps his arm around my waist, pulling me up tight against him. I huff and then maybe I gasp just a little. I swear I can feel hardness against my stomach, and it's not his belt.
He sets me down quickly though, takes my bag and holds the door open, waiting until I'm in before he closes it-harder than necessary.
His jaw is working and his brow is furrowed as he rounds the hood. He slides into the driver's seat and starts the engine without saying a word. I'm so irritated right now. He pulls onto the street. Still silent. I'm the first to break. "You have no right to judge me."
"I'm not judging you."
I scoff.
He comes to a stop at a red light. The tension is so thick it's like wading through Jell-O. He turns his head slowly so he's looking at me. I glare back. "Why would I judge you?"
"Oh come on, Bancroft. Look at me." I shrug out of my cardigan and gesture to my outfit. My skimpy, gauzy outfit. I've never actually felt sexier than I do when I'm dancing in this, but that's beside the point.
"Oh, I'm looking." The light turns green and he shifts into gear. I never learned how to drive stick-not the car kind anyway.
I huff and fume some more.
"You want to know what I think?"
"I'm sure you're going to tell me regardless of what I say."
"You're the one who's judging you."
I bite the inside of my lip, trying to come up with some kind of sassy, snappy retort. But I don't have one. Because he's right. I am judging myself. I'm so worried about what the other people in my life are going to think about this temporary career move-which would be viewed as a complete and utter downgrade from what I've been attempting to accomplish in the theater industry-that I've labeled myself a failure, and I'm expecting everyone else to do the same. Even though it's actually quite far from the truth.
"Of course I'm judging myself. This isn't the direction I thought my career would go. But that doesn't explain why you're so angry with me."
"You want to know why?" Bancroft sounds incredulous.
I throw my hands up in the air. It's dramatic. "Yes. Why?"
"You lied to me."
"I stretched the truth."
Bancroft expels a long, slow breath. He's gripping the steering wheel tightly. "That is a far cry from dinner theater, Ruby."
"What did you want me to say? I got a job dancing half naked on a stage in a burlesque-style show?"
"Yes, Ruby. That's exactly what I want. The truth."
"I don't see why it matters so much to you. I'm just your pet sitter."
Bancroft's jaw tics. I'm pretty sure I can hear his teeth grinding. He mutters something under his breath.
"I'm sorry. What was that?"
"Is that what you really think? That's you're just my pet sitter?"