Page 17 of Wicked Little Game
“You have hair.”
“One more word and we’ll stay here.”
I raise my hands in defeat as I follow him out to the driveway, still staring at his slightly messy, dark brown hair.
The headlights of the black S-Class flash as I unlock the car, and I contemplate asking James if I can drive, but he yanks the keys out of my hand.
I have my license and I would call myself an excellent driver, but I also enjoy being the passenger princess. Dom taught me how to drive when we moved here. I’m pretty sure that even a kid could drive the S-Class without trouble.
I’m not so sure about that anymore as James leaves the driveway. We’re just out of the gate and I hold on to the grab bar as if my life depends on it.
“You know how to drive a car, right?”
“What kind of dumb question is that?” He slams his fist on the steering wheel, honking as the driver he just cut off while turning lanes gives him the finger. He either won his driving license or intimidated his driving instructor so much that he handed it to him with sweaty fingers.
It’s almost impressive to drive this car so horribly because it has all the driving assistance one could think of. It could drive on his own and yet here I am, feeling like I’m part of anillegal car race where the driver wears a blindfold. And steers with his feet.
“That traffic light was red.”
“I didn’t see a traffic light,” he says, and I keep myself from pressing the matter further. It’s probably better not to distract him even more because it seems like he needs every bit of focus not to kill the both of us in this car.
Thankfully, the mall isn’t far away from my house and soon, James turns into the parking lot. He brings the car to a halt, using at least two designated parking spaces, but again, I decide to keep my mouth shut.
It’s the middle of the week, there’s more than enough space here and I have a feeling that I should be thankful that we made it here with no casualties. Maybe he will let me drive us home later.
He gets out of the car and usually, the men in my life, no matter how big of an asshole they are, open the door for me, but this is James. It’s a success that he even agreed to go out with me. Even though I know for a fact that he wouldn’t have agreed to this if he knew half of the things I want to do today.
“James?”
“What now?” he groans as we walk towards the entrance.
“You’ll help me pick some clothes out, right?”
He shakes his head again, huffing in annoyance while I have a hard time keeping my excitement at bay. It’s the first time that I’m out of the house this month and the first time in a long while that I’m at the mall and not just at the park. Maybe that’s the reason for the strange feeling in my stomach.
I walk through the mall with a plan, saving a certain store for last. At the fourth store, James finally stopped rushing me and retreated back to carrying my bags and glaring at me from time to time.
It also doesn’t escape me how he yanks his hand awaywhenever it grazes mine. As if he’s afraid I want to hold it or something.
“Can you wait here for a second?” I ask as we walk past a small jewelry store. “I ordered something, I just need to pick it up.”
The store is tiny and the thought of being cramped in there with me must be enough for him to agree to wait outside. It’s not like I don’t enjoy feeling him pressed against me, but I don’t wantJamesto see what I bought.
At least not yet.
“Hey, Rich,” I greet the older gentleman behind the counter. He’s my trusted jeweler, but he’s also so much more than that. A few years ago, he had his own store in the city. It had been in the hands of his family for the past seventy years, but then this mall opened up.
When Richard sold his store and rented out a smaller one in the mall, he told me he wanted to size down either way. He said his old store was too big, too much of a hassle to take care of for an old man like him.
I still feel bad about it whenever I visit him, even though it was my father who bribed the mayor to build the mall, not me. I even tried to keep him from doing it, but he didn’t listen to my arguments. Better logistics and more potential money were more important. His, his, his, because to him, it doesn’t matter that he ruins other people's lives with his decisions.
“Ruby, sweetheart, it’s wonderful to see you again,” Richard says, his tone as warm and friendly as ever. Back when he still had his store in the city, and things were still at least okay at home, I often stuck around for hours. In the beginning, it was mostly for him to show me his newest pieces, but soon, Richard himself was the reason I put up with driving to town at least once a week.
He’s like the father, or more like the grandfather, I neverhad. Maybe I have a grandfather I don’t know of, somewhere. But I know that I have Richard.
He is always there to listen, to give good advice for whatever problem I am having, or just to keep me company when I can’t stand being around my father any longer.
“Wait here for a second, I’ll get your bracelets from the back,” he says before he turns to walk into the small storage room that doubles as his workshop in the back of the store. “I got so excited when you called me yesterday, I haven’t heard your voice for so long.”
