Page 99 of House of Desire

Ismile as the door shuts, but the moment I hear the lock snick into place, my expression drops. Moving quietly just in case Parker hasn’t moved away from the door, I press the truck’s lock button careful to only hit it once and not let the alarm beep, and gently set his truck keys by the column so he’ll see them, but they’re hidden from the street.

Tears threaten, but I keep them in, pretending like I’m back in House of Desire and Parker is just on a date with one of the other girls. That there’s a camera on me and I don’t want it to catch me crying. Pulling out my phone, I scroll down and tap on the name I know will always pick up.

Always come get me.

“Dom,” I say, choking back tears. “Will you come get me?”

Outside of Parker’s neighborhood is a well-lit gas station. Instead of having Dom come to Parker’s, I walk to the station, dropping a pin for him to find me once I’m there. The sound of his car’s engine reaches me before I even see him. As the blue antique muscle car pulls in, his first purchase when he signed with the Thunderhawks, heads turn.

“Thanks for coming to get me,” I say, climbing into the front seat.

“I’ll have you know you interrupted a thrilling night of online Scrabble with Dad and buttered noodles for dinner.”

“You are a ninety-two-year-old grandpa, trapped in a twenty-something’s body.”

“Twenty-something?”

“My mind is too preoccupied to remember your birthday right now.”

My seat belt clicks as I fasten it. He pulls us out of the gas station, going slowly so he doesn’t scrape the bottom of the car.

“Who were you with? Why did they leave you at the gas station? Did you forget how old they were, too?”

I lean back against my seat, staring up at the cream-colored ceiling above me.

“They didn’t leave me at the gas station.”

“Then how did you get here?” he asks, refusing to look at me, giving me privacy in case I’m going to cry. Our unspoken agreement all through life. We can cry with each other, without fear of being made fun of, and the other will not watch. The first time a guy stood me up for the winter dance in eighth grade, Dom sat in my closet to give me privacy while I cried and he told me jokes through the door to try to make me feel better.

“I was with Parker.”

“I’ll kill him,” he says with no heat behind it. He knows I’d never let him fulfill the promise.

“His ex-wife showed up, Dom.”

I know I shocked him by the complete and utter lack of any response. No sharp intake of breath. No laughing. No questions.

Nothing but the sound of the road and someone honking to our left.

A few tears escape as a flash of anger at the universe heats my insides. I feel like Parker and I have fought to get to this moment, without cameras and production assistants and a schedule, where we can try to give this relationship a chance. And the second we have a date, the best date of my life, the other shoe drops. My heart is breaking, worried this is going to end and I’ll never get to feel Parker’s lips on mine ever again.

When I can barely stand the silence anymore, I smack Dom’s arm.

“Ow! What was that for?”

“I just dropped a bomb and you didn’t say anything.”

“What do you want me to say?” he asks, looking over at me as we pull up at a stoplight, the red glow falling on his face.

“Whatever you’re thinking,” I sigh. Maybe if he starts, I’ll be able to figure out what to say. How I feel.

“I’m actually not really thinking anything.”

“Not a single thought?” The light turns green and we continue on to my house.

“I didn’t realize he had an ex-wife. How do you feel about that?” He keeps his tone placid and nonjudgmental.

“I don’t mind. We all have pasts. His just involves a previous marriage,” I say. And it’s true. I don’t mind he was married before. But I guess I never expected that past to show up on the doorstep.

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