The Way to Game the Walk of Shame(22)
“And I said no thanks.” The two old busybodies were blatantly staring now. I resisted the urge to shoo them away and softened my voice. “Like I said, I like the bus. It gives me time to … think.”
To my surprise, Evan laughed like I had told him the funniest joke and pulled me in for a tight, one-armed hug. “God, you’re stubborn,” he muttered through beaming, clenched teeth. Shocked by his closeness, I blinked and stayed still as his breath tickled my ear. “Did you forget we’re supposed to be dating now? How would it look if I let my girlfriend ride the bus when I have a perfectly good and comfortable car right here?”
Oh, right. Duh. I glanced over his shoulder and grimaced at the rust stains up and down the passenger door. “Are you sure you know the definition of comfortable?”
He let go of me, but not before he rapped his hand against the back of my head. “Come on, you can think in my car. Can’t let you be late for class, now.”
Ouch! I glowered at his back and rubbed my head as he walked away. It didn’t hurt that much because my knitted hat cushioned the blow, but it could have. I crossed my arms and stayed right where I was.
Evan didn’t get in the car. Instead, he jumped up and down and rubbed his hands together, blowing on them to keep warm as he waited. My annoyance with his arrogance slowly faded. He was making an effort. And it was sweet of him to even think about driving me to school. Especially when he really didn’t have to. We could have started our charade when we arrived at school.
Despite the shabby exterior, the car’s interior was pretty comfortable. And clean, too. I had to give him that. The gray seats enveloped me into the cushions. It reminded me of Dad’s sofa in the study. A little lumpy, like it was homemade. It wasn’t pretty to look at, but it was soft to the touch. At least to my touch.
And warm. Like I was sliding into a fire when I got in the car. My entire body tingled from the abrupt temperature change, but I didn’t mind. I tucked my bag beneath the seat so only the top and the straps were poking out. Then I peeled off each layer of clothing, sighing with contentment.
For such a small car, the seats were abnormally wide. My legs stuck out awkwardly, like a kid with knobby knees who couldn’t quite reach the floor. One glance at the rearview mirror and I grimaced. My baby hair beneath my hat stuck out of my braid. I tried to smooth them down for a few seconds before giving up. They just sprang back up again like prickly thorns. At least I didn’t have to worry about Evan trying to seduce me. Hand me a lollipop, and I looked like I was in elementary school again.
Oh well. I tucked one leg beneath me and propped the other on top of my bag. “I guess we could use this time to get to know each other.”
“Sounds like a blast.”
Gotta love the sarcasm. I tapped my fingers against my thigh. “It would be pretty hard to convince people that we’re dating when we barely know anything about each other.”
The right side of his mouth quirked upward. “That’s how most of my relationships are, but of course you’d want to be different. So what do you want to know?”
I never knew if he was giving me a compliment or an insult. “Do you have any brothers or sisters? What do your parents do for a living?”
“I’m an only child. And my mom’s a nurse.”
“And your dad?”
His smile slowly faded. “My—my mom’s married to a doctor. An anesthesiologist.”
“Your dad’s an anesthesiologist, and you drive this old clunker?”
His jaw clenched, and his fingers tapped the horn at the center of the steering wheel, but not hard enough to actually make it honk. “First off, for your information, this isn’t an old clunker. This is a 1989 BMW 325i.”
I nibbled on my thumbnail, confused by the sudden rush of tension in the car. “Er, that literally means nothing to me.”
“Secondly,” Evan continued as though I hadn’t responded. He flicked the left signal and moved around the silver car in front of us. “He isn’t my dad. He’s my stepdad. Major difference. And third, this classic car used to belong to my real dad, so no trashing it. I wouldn’t trade Rudy for the world.”
Oh. “Rudy?” I asked stupidly.
“Yes, Rudy.” No explanations added. I could have sworn that he flushed before turning his head away. Subject closed.
“So your parents are divorced?” Why couldn’t I stop asking the stupidest questions?
“Yeah, and my mom married a jackass.”
I waited for him to continue, but that was it. No more talking. Apparently, my question had killed the conversation better than a nuclear bomb. Boom!
The layer of tension in the air grew until I actually felt suffocated. Evan didn’t seem to notice, though. He just stared straight ahead and continued driving. His right hand gripped the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles turned white. My curiosity made me want to ask more, but my nerves wouldn’t let me.
Why didn’t I just get on the bus?
He sped up, weaving around the cars instead of slowing down as we approached the Highway 8 Bridge. I nervously fingered the seat belt buckle to make sure it was secure. I had major acrophobia. Even a slight bridge incline was enough to make my stomach tighten in fear. Especially when combined with being in a speeding chunk of metal. “My parents are divorced, too,” I blurted out to distract us both.