Girl Crush(35)
West seemed to ponder the thought too long. He peered into my eyes, but I couldn’t discern what he thought he’d find there. The weight of the air around us had become heavy, and I’d grown uncomfortable. The feeling of exposure went beyond being half-dressed on his bed—the way he stared at me, stripped me. His pupils dilated just slightly and the color warmed with golden hues. He licked his lips, and my mouth exploded with verbal vomit to alleviate the sexual tension I felt.
“You should let me drive your car.” When all else fails, catch someone off guard. Internally, I rolled my eyes at my insipid suggestion, but in the end, I’d gotten the desired response. Laughter.
“Not going to happen, Giselle.”
I grinned and rolled over to face him, propping my head on my hand. “I’m a really good driver.”
“Are you Rain Man?”
It took me a second to get the reference. “No, but I can assure you it will corner like it’s on rails.”
“So Pretty Woman…”
I giggled. There was another car I’d kill to drive. The Lotus Esprit was a fine piece of machinery. “Sports cars are far easier for women to drive. We have smaller feet. And, I’ll remind you, she ended up escorting Richard Gere to a very happy place.” I winked at him, trying to keep things playful.
“Fairytales only exist in movies, Giselle.”
“Who’s talking about a fairytale? I just want to drive the car.”
“Which in your world is a fairytale because it’s not going to happen.”
“You make no sense. You said yourself it’s just a car. You don’t park it in the garage because it’s easier to reach in the driveway where it’s exposed to weather, thieves, and miscreants. But you won’t let a fine lady with a love for speed get behind the wheel. What gives?”
“That’s exactly why I won’t let you drive it. I refuse to have your life on my hands when you can’t control the beast under the hood.”
“We are still talking about the car, right?”
He gave in and relinquished a smile. I might not have gotten to drive the Porsche, but that grin was a close second.
*
A week later, I got a text from Beck that Collier had offered her a job at West Enterprise. Her excitement came through loud and clear, as did her gratitude for calming her brother down and getting him to be reasonable. We hadn’t talked about anything I’d said to him when I’d gone back outside. They didn’t ask where I’d been or what I’d been doing, and I didn’t offer. West had steered clear of the group while we were there, and I hadn’t gotten any sobbing phone calls, so I’d assumed Beck had been allowed to live another day.
It made my heart happy that he’d taken my suggestion…now I just hoped it didn’t backfire. I told Beck she had to take it seriously and not make her brother regret the decision. But, I got the impression she was anxious to please him and show him she would rise to the challenge. It helped both of them in the long run: he got her stable and relinquished her financial need for him while giving her something to feel good about, and it would help her get back to her life with Stella outside of West’s home. I prayed she didn’t blow it.
Personally, I was still hanging out at my boring job, doing anything I could think of to pass the time. I was on my third coat of OPI—today’s color choice: “Black Cherry Chutney.” I wondered how someone got that job. I wanted to be the person who came up with rock star names for bottles of polish. I could totally derive some killer color choices, but I bet I’d have to have a degree in molecular engineering or some shit. When my nails dried, I started researching the possibilities.
Between phone calls and a few text messages from Ronnie, I hadn’t made much progress. It seemed a well-guarded secret at the OPI facility, but the actual co-founder was still involved in the selections. Without a degree in marketing or advertising, it appeared my creative prowess wouldn’t be appreciated or entertained. I grunted my disapproval and cleared out my search engine.
Google Doodler would be my second chosen profession, but I didn’t make the cut for that one, either. I didn’t have programming or design ability, regardless of how cute my ideas might be. It was too late to determine I wanted more out of life, and I resigned myself to the phones and visitors of my current employer.
My cell dinged with an incoming text, taking me out of my daydreams. Heather and I had been talking for several weeks, and she was starting to push for an in-person meeting. I figured it would be her again trying to coax me into coffee or some other meaningless get-together. I hadn’t anticipated a message from West.
Collier: I got tickets to the ProAm Driving Experience. Wanna go?
I didn’t have a clue what the ProAm was, but anything with the words “driving” and “experience” in the title had to be fun.
Me: Of course. When is it?
Collier: Tomorrow.
Obviously, I wasn’t his first choice on the guest list, but I wasn’t proud. I Googled the Experience, and it wouldn’t have mattered if he’d asked me five minutes before we had to leave. Any chance to drive fast cars on a closed course was my idea of the perfect way to spend a weekend.
Collier: I just got the tickets. I know it’s last minute. I understand if you have plans.
Okay, so maybe he could read my mind.