Fated (The Soul Seekers #1)(76)
“That must’ve been … strange.” I peer at him sideways, the question more baited than it seems.
“It was.” He shrugs. “Strange is definitely the best word to describe it.” He falls quiet, stares into the distance.
“So you still live on the reservation?” I ask, desperate to keep the conversation going, remembering how Paloma failed to say either way.
“Only when I visit my mom. The rest of the time I rent a small room in town, paid for with what I earn working here.”
My stare hardens; I have no idea how to reply. Shocked that he’d go to all that trouble, work so hard for his creep of a brother, just so he could attend a school that hasn’t been all that accepting of him.
He meets my gaze, reads the unspoken question written on my face, but instead of elaborating, he stops beside a primer-gray Mustang—same car he drove at the gas station that day—saying, “You’re staying with Paloma, right?”
I nod in reply, duck my head low, and settle inside. Noting the interior is a little worn, a little worse for the wear, yet surprisingly neat and clean. And it definitely smells really nice—sort of earthy and fresh—like him.
“So, now that you know about me—what about you?” He starts the engine, backing out of the space and onto the street. “Or should I ask around to uncover that too?”
I stare out the window, tempted to say something glib, noncommittal, but he’s so kind and sincere, I go with the truth. “For as long as I remember, it’s been me and my mom. She’s a Hollywood makeup artist—though the job title’s a little misleading, since we spend most of our time traveling the world, only stopping in Hollywood between gigs.”
He swerves onto a rutted dirt road, the first of many, eyes slewed toward me when he says, “Sounds rough.”
I sharpen my gaze, searching for signs of sarcasm, insincerity, something—but coming away empty, which really surprises me. Usually when people respond like that it’s with an undertone of envy.
“I mean, I’m sure it had its good parts.” He recovers quickly, worried he might’ve upset me. “Still … never having a real place to settle, to call home … I’m not sure I could do it.”
“Sometimes it was tough,” I say. “Sometimes it got really lonely.” I settle deeper into my seat, wondering why I saw fit to confess that when I’ve never admitted it to anyone, much less myself. Quick to add, “Then again, when it’s the only life you know, then you don’t really know what you’re missing.” Not wanting him to feel sorry for me.
My fingers twist in my lap, watching as he considers my words. Gripping the wheel tighter as he slows to a crawl in order to navigate a particularly rough patch of road.
“So I’m guessing this is the reason everyone drives four-wheelers around here?” I grip the edge of my seat, cringing when the bottom of his car scrapes hard against the ground.
“I have an old truck I usually save for these roads. I’m a bit of a grease monkey. I like fixing up cars and other broken-down things. But since I didn’t plan on coming this way…” His shoulders lift, ending that topic as he segues to the next. “So tell me, for someone who’s traveled the world, what do you make of Enchantment?” He removes a hand from the wheel to tuck some loose strands of hair back behind his ear, and it’s all I can do to keep from reaching toward him—entwining my fingers with his.
I bite down on my lip, having no idea what to say. So instead I just stare at his profile—noting how it’s so perfectly chiseled it should be minted on coins.
“That bad, huh?” He shakes his head and laughs.
“Aside from school and Paloma’s, I really haven’t seen all that much.” I shrug, deciding to leave out my visit to the graveyard, the cave, and the time I went riding on the reservation with Chay.
“Well, I know it pretty well, and I’m more than happy to volunteer as your guide—just say the word. It’s not nearly as bad as you think. There are some truly enchanting places, if you know where to look.”
I nod as though I’m already considering it, but as tempting as it is, I know I can’t do it. After tonight, I have to do whatever I can to avoid him. Getting to know him is not a viable option. I have a job to do—one that’ll require all of my focus. I can’t allow myself to get distracted by a boyfriend—or even a boy that’s a friend.
The rest of the drive passes in silence, but, strangely, I have no need to fill it and neither does he. It’s only when he pulls up to the big blue gate that he turns to me and says, “This is it, right?”
I reach for my bag, intending to give a quick thanks for the ride and be on my way. But when our eyes meet again, the words melt on my lips.
He holds the look. Holds it with such intensity, no matter how hard I try, I can’t break away.
Everything my head is telling me: Open the door—say your good-byes—and get the heck out of this car!—is in direct conflict with what my heart is saying: Stay—talk—hang out for a while—give it a chance—see where it leads …
His blue eyes gleaming, lips parting and curving, as a slant of moonlight creeps through the window and finds its way to the top of his head where it glows like a crown.
The sight of it forcing me to shut my eyes, shut out the whole glorious sight of him. Needing to see if I’m merely drawn to his beauty, since it wouldn’t be the first time. But when I turn the focus from my eyes to my heart, when I tune in to what it tells me—well, the impression I get is the same as the first time I saw him that day at the Rabbit Hole and again at the gas station, then today at school, and earlier tonight when I ran smack into him in the club …