Page 67 of My Fault
“If that’s what’s convenient,” I said, grabbing my purse and walking out the door.
“I would have preferredthanks,” he said, catching up with me as I jogged down the stairs.
I looked at his T-shirt, which was tight across his upper arms and back. Why did he have to be so hot? Why?
As we walked past the vestibule, I realized I didn’t have any cash. I stopped, not sure what to do.
“What are you doing?” he asked me, annoyed.
In desperation, I made up a lie.
“I think I lost my wallet.” I pretended to look through my purse. I hated putting on a show, and if I hadn’t known he wasloaded, I’d have just stayed at home, but at that second, the idea of doing so seemed dreadful.
“Why are you making me waste my time?” he asked.
“What I mean is, I don’t have any money,” I said, making sure he understood.
He rolled his eyes.
“You already made me lose two hundred thousand dollars. Buying you a taco now won’t make any difference. Come on, go get in the car.” He jumped into the driver’s side and threw it into gear.
For a brief moment, I felt guilty, but as soon as I remembered what a jerk he was, the sensation vanished.
The restaurant was twenty minutes away. I watched him in silence as he shifted gears and fooled with the radio. I hadn’t been alone with him since that day in the kitchen, and the feeling was strange.
The station he chose played the worst rap songs in history, but since he seemed to know all the words, I opted not to complain. I looked out the window at all the huge houses we were leaving behind and was surprised when, instead of pulling onto the freeway, he turned north, toward a development next to ours.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“I’ve got to pick Anna up,” he said without looking over. I tried as hard as I could to ignore the horrible feeling those words inspired.
He could tell that had affected me. The tension and discomfort were palpable, and my thoughts turned to all that had happened between us.
“Look, as far as the way things have been lately,” he said in a calm but cool tone. Great. The very thing I didn’t want to talk about.
“I propose we try to get along better, like brother and sister, and forget everything else that’s happened.”
I turned to him, one eyebrow raised.
“You think you’re going to treat me like a sister after feeling me up all those times?”
He clenched his jaw, and his veins danced beneath his skin.
“Like a friend, then, goddammit,” he said. “You’re impossible. I’m just trying for us to get along better.”
“By treating me like a sister,” I said, getting more and more pissed off with each minute that passed.
He glared at me, and I glared back. That burning emotion in our eyes when they met was too dangerous to express in words.
“I told you: we’re friends,” he barked, and the contrast between his tone and what he was saying made me laugh. Thankfully he turned back to the road.
“Fine,” I agreed after a few seconds. I guessed pretending to be Nicholas’s friend was better than us attacking each other twenty-four hours a day, even if I couldn’t trust myself not to lust after him every time I laid eyes on him. I didn’t thinkfriendswas the right word, though.Relatives obliged to tolerate each other.I said this to him, and I was happy with the term becausefriendsimplied too many things. To be friends meant being together through thick and thin. I wasn’t even there with Jenna yet, and getting to know her had been wonderful.
An impossible-to-interpret smile crossed Nicholas’s lips.
“I’m not so sure aboutrelatives…How aboutdistant pseudo-relatives obliged to tolerate each other and hook up once in a while?” Oh, so he was making fun of me.
I slapped him playfully, and his smile just got bigger. It was strange how comfortable I felt after that, in the few minutes remaining until our arrival. It had even been fun, in some weird, twisted way.
