Shuffle, Repeat(66)

“Where?” Oliver asks, and I don’t know how to answer. I only know I need to get him away from this house, away from Theo, away from everything dangerous. It’s only when we’ve arrived that I realize I’ve taken him to the behemoth. Oliver realizes it at the same time as me and digs in his heels. “I’m not leaving.”

“We don’t have to leave. We’ll just…be here.”

There’s a long pause and then Oliver sighs. “I’m only saying yes because you’re the reason I didn’t hit Theo.”

“Thanks for that.” I reach for the passenger door handle, but Oliver blocks me.

“We’ve spent too much time inside this car already.”

“Then where?”

He places his hands on my waist and lifts me onto the hood like I weigh nothing at all. He swings up—because apparently that’s the easiest thing in the world to do if you’re Oliver—and looks at me. “Is that yours?”

I realize what’s been in my hand the entire time: the bottle of tequila. “No,” I tell him, and he laughs.

“At least we got something out of this party.”

But he doesn’t take the tequila. Instead, he clasps his hands beneath his head and leans back against the windshield, looking up at the night sky. He’s as beautiful as always, because it’s not like starlight makes people less attractive, for crying out loud. I scoot over and recline against the windshield beside him.

“I know Theo deserved it, but I’m glad you didn’t punch him. It wouldn’t make you feel any better about Ainsley.”

There’s a rustle beside me. Oliver has propped himself up on his elbow and is facing me. “Wait, you think I wanted to hit Theo…why?”

“Because he’s…whatever he is…with Ainsley?”

I think it’s a duh, but Oliver looks bewildered. “June, what the hell.” He shakes his head. “It was because of what he did to you. That thing he did. The gesture.”

I stare at him, because of course that doesn’t make any sense whatsoever. “Theo always does stuff like that to me.”

“I know. I’ve tried to get him to stop. I’m sick of it.”

“Wait.” I peel off the windshield and sit cross-legged on the hood of the behemoth. “Isn’t that why you came here? Because you found out about Theo and Ainsley?”

“No.” Oliver sits up also. He faces me on the hood of his car. “I needed to get out.”

“Why?” The second it comes out of my mouth, I realize I already know the answer.

“It’s been weird at my house. Like all the air has been sucked out and the three of us are rattling around in this big, empty vacuum, but I haven’t known why.” I nod, dreading what he’s going to say next. “Tonight, I found out. My dad is cheating on my mom.”

“He is?” Like, he’s still doing it?

“Is, was, I don’t know. He definitely did it—more than once—and he admits to it. I guess he and Mom are trying to work it out, but today they had a big fight. I came downstairs as he was driving away and she was pouring his most expensive bottle of scotch down the kitchen sink.”

Sounds about right.

“Then what happened?” I ask him.

“Mom told me about the cheating.” Oliver shoots me a wry look. “I think she was drinking some of the scotch before she dumped it.”

I swallow hard. “Did she say anything else?”

“Just highlights from the divorce chapter of the parent handbook. It’s not my fault and everything will be okay.” He shakes his head. “Dad always seemed so in love with her. I can’t believe he did it. I thought…”

His voice trails off and I finish the sentence for him. “You thought he was better than that.”

Oliver nods. Our knees are touching and I want to slide my hand over to hold his, but I don’t. I can’t.

I’m scared.

Oliver’s gaze slides to the bottle leaning against the windshield. He picks it up and scans the label. “You stole Kaylie’s tequila.”

“I don’t know about stole,” I tell him. “Borrowed, maybe. I borrowed Kaylie’s tequila.”

“There are people in there who are going to be really mad if they don’t get to do their body shots,” Oliver says. “You’re disappointing the masses.”

“The masses already saw me do one.” I immediately wish I hadn’t said that, as something passes over his face—something I can’t quite pinpoint.

“Who did you do it with?” His voice is careful, deliberately casual.

“Shaun,” I tell him, and watch his body relax.

“I didn’t get a chance to do one.” The way Oliver says it makes the night air hang hot and thick and still around us. My eyes go to the tequila bottle in his hands, then back up to his face.

“Really?”

“Really.”

It’s only one word, but it carries all kinds of meaning. A question. A wish. A promise. I stare at Oliver’s shadowed eyes, and the smooth heat of the car beneath me increases, radiating up through my thighs and into my abdomen. Something between us has changed, become charged. He lifts the bottle and his posture shifts so his knees bump against mine. My normal reaction would be to scoot backward, to give him space, to put a barrier between us.