Page 46 of We Met Like This
“It’s fine, really.”
I rummaged through my center console until I found a fast-food napkin, then scrubbed at the mascara on my cheeks with it. There was lipstick on one side of my mouth and not the other. I wiped at that as well.
“Do you want to talk about it or do you want me to go get you some takeout and bring it back here? Or both?” he asked.
“I don’t think I can eat right now. My stomach is… I don’t know. It’s off. Might be missing entirely.” I did the best I could with my makeup, which was better than when I started but not great, and shut the visor.
“That doesn’t sound pleasant.”
“It’s not.” I scrunched up the napkin and deposited it in the compartment under the door handle.
“If you really want me to leave, I will,” he said.
I grabbed hold of his arm without any forethought, as if out of instinct, and shook my head no. Why was I going to cry again? How was there any liquid left in my body? I turned sideways and leaned my head against the headrest, my hand not leaving his arm.
He mimicked me. “Hi,” he said, placing his hand on top of mine. It was warm and a little rough. It made me feel cozy and dizzy at the same time.
“Hi,” I said.
“It’s been awhile.”
“Has it?” I asked.
“What have you been up to today?” he teased back.
“I think I just quit my job,” I said.
“There was some ambiguity to it?”
“I called my boss an ass.”
His eyebrows popped up. He was so expressive in person, I’d forgotten. “Was he being an ass?”
“A huge one.”
“And did you want to quit?”
“No?”
He didn’t say anything, just waited.
“What I wanted was a promotion, but once I realized he was talking in circles around that, making vague suggestionsabout how it would work, I don’t know, maybe I did want to quit. He treated me like I shouldn’t have expected a promotion. Like I had no idea what I was talking about. Like I made up scenarios we’d discussed in the past. He acted like I was being unreasonable or naïve. It didn’t feel good.”
Oliver squeezed my hand. “I’m sorry.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for.”
“I’m sorry someone made you feel that way and I wish he was sorry.”
“Thank you.”
We fell into silence and my body became hyperaware of where I gripped his arm. His muscle tight, his skin warm. Goose bumps sprang to life across my skin and my eyes traveled his face. He was even more handsome than I remembered. The way his energy vibrated through the car. Several days’ worth of unshaven hair lined his jaw and upper lip. It was a good look on him, something he hadn’t had last time or in any of his pictures. I wanted to rub my hand along it.
“I’m sorry this event isn’t as advertised,” I said.
“As advertised?”
“A celebration,” I said.
