Page 35 of I Did Something Bad
“What if Yan tells someone we took the car? Surely he’ll suspect something’s up.”
Tyler hitches a shoulder. “But he won’t knowwhat. Chances are, he’ll think we’re secretly fucking.”
“Why would he think that?” I ask, surprised by the statement as well as the blasé manner in which he says it, becauseIpersonally am having a physical reaction to hearing him say that last word.Fucking.Heat ziplines down my spine as I hear it again in my head. Tyler Tun’s front teeth grazing his bottom lip right before he says the word “fucking” to my face—
“Because that’s what anyone thinks when I go off alone with a woman,” he states plainly. “It’s why everyone’s convinced May and I are dating. It’s whyPeopleonce printed a photo of me with a ‘mystery woman’ who was my cousin.”
“You don’t mind that he’ll think we’re secretly fucking?” I ask, keeping a close eye on his reaction, my ears simultaneously straining to catch his reply over the sound of my heart, which has leapfrogged into my throat and is thudding at ten times its usual rate.
The fact that his cap is obscuring half of his face makes it difficultfor me to read him, but his mouth presses into a tight line, as though he doesn’t want to accidentally say the first thing he’s just thought. “Better that than him thinking we’re hiding a murder. Come on, Khin, it’s the best plan we’ve got. The windows are tinted so no one will see me while I wait inside. Afterward, we’ll take the car back to mine and leave it in the parking garage there, and you can get a cab home. And I’m sure Yan can be… persuaded to be discreet.”
Hell of a lot more work than if I just got a cab there and back,I think with indignation. “Only if I drive,” I say in a final attempt to maintain a morsel of control over the situation.
“Antagonistic,” he mumbles, and, not giving me a chance to reply, adds, “Forgot to pack my license anyway. It’s still sitting in a drawer back at my LA house.”
I don’t like this. At all. Seized with displeasure bordering on anger, I stand there, meaning to glare furiously at the back of his head—but then my eyes drop and involuntarily note how hot his back muscles look when they flex under the fabric of this lavender cotton tee that’s sticking to his skin thanks to the heat, and then proceed to drop even lower, tracing the curvature of his spine downward until I am, as they say,checking him out. I sheepishly look around to see if anyone just caught me staring intently at Tyler Tun’s ass, but it’s still just him and Yan, and if Yan saw, well, he’s a master at being discreet.
As I adjust the rearview mirrors and driver’s seat to my height, I see Tyler and Yan talking on the sidewalk. Tyler reaches into his pocket for his wallet, takes out what looks likeallof the cash he carries, and discreetly slides it into Yan’s pocket with one hand while clapping him on the shoulder with the other. Sothat’show Tyler Tun “persuades” people to do what he wants.
In my defense, I don’t bring it up lest I further cement myantagonisticreputation.
A few minutes into the so-far silent drive, though, Tyler asks—without a shred of self-consciousness, mind you—“Is that going into the article?”
“What?”
“That Tyler Tun regularly bribes people into doing his bidding.”
My grip on the wheel tightens on reflex, as if my body is jumping into defense mode. “I—”
“If it makes a difference, I was going to give him a bonus tomorrow night once he dropped me off and signed off for the week anyway. That’s why I had that much cash on me already. His kid broke his foot last week, and they’re swamped with hospital bills.”
“Oh,” I say, snarky remark catching on a jagged shard of guilt. On the one hand, that is, obviously, an unequivocally compassionate gesture. On the other, what are the chances he’s telling me this to protect his image? America’s altruistic sweetheart. “I… wasn’t even really paying that much attention,” I say.
I catch his smirk out of the side of my eye. “Liar. Then how come you were watching me? I saw you.” He always sounds like he’s taunting me, like he knows me well enough that he can see through everything I do and say.
“How would you know I was watching you unless you were watchingme?” I shoot back.
We’re at a red light so I can look over. His face twitches, and he works his jaw before replying, “Guess we’re just always watching each other.” Suddenly, the air thrums with an immediate and intangible metaphysical energy.
I can’t think of a single witty reply, so I say nothing.
Two hours later, I jump back into the driver’s seat, knees and palms specked with dirt, neck and forehead and armpits and underboobs smothered in sweat.
“What?” I snap when I discover Tyler trying to suppress a grin. I reach over and direct the air con shutters to my face.
“Was it a good date?”
I give him a cordial smile. “Obviously. All of my good dates end with me panting and covered in sweat.”
My comment catches him off guard. He hacks a cough into the water bottle he was drinking from, and I smile for real this time.
He opens his mouth, but his phone vibrating on his lap catches our attention. Before I can do the polite thing and look away, I see May’s name.
“Everything okay?” I ask. He nods and immediately texts back, his pinched brows telling me he’s lying, or at least not being entirely honest. “Want me to drive you to hers?”
He looks up in a half daze. “Who?”
“May,” I say, gesturing at his phone.
