Page 53 of Boiling Point
I nodded once, squeezing his hand to signal that I was unfazed by the thirteen years between us. More than unfazed—I liked this about him. Older. Steady.
“Why Page College?” he asked. “Out of anywhere you could have gone?”
“I’m a legacy student.”
“Which parent?”
“My dad,” I answered quickly. “But that’s cheating. You asked two in a row.”
“I didn’t realize the rules were so strict.” He lifted my hand and kissed the inside of my wrist. “I’ll make it up to you. Ask me three.”
“Okay,” I said, thinking. “First question: favorite singer or band?”
“Ooh, tough one.” He clicked his tongue. “I suppose I’ve got to fall back on Oasis.”
I blinked. “Who?”
His head snapped toward me. “You’re joking.”
I laughed. “No, seriously—should I know them?” A beat passed. “Wait, is that the band that sings ‘Wonderwall’?”
He groaned, tipping his head back against the headrest. “Christ. Yes. That’s them.”
I grinned. “See? I do know them.”
“Barely,” he muttered. “That was question two, by the way.”
“That wasn’t—oh, come on.” I laughed. “You can’t count a clarification.”
He arched a brow. “I can, and I have. You’ve got one left. Use it wisely.”
I hesitated, suddenly unsure. But the words came anyway. “When was the last time you were in love?”
His thumb stilled on mine. He didn’t answer right away. “That’s a harder one,” he said finally. “You sure you don’t want to ask what I’d take to a desert island instead?”
I shrugged. “You told me to use my question wisely.”
He exhaled, his grip tightening on the steering wheel. “That’s the kind of question better answered after a few glasses of wine,” he said at last. Not cold. Just carefully folded.
I nodded, sensing the edge I’d touched. “Okay, we’ll shelve it.”
He glanced at me, then back at the road. “If I answer that one…” His voice dropped. “Can I ask you something personal in return?”
“Of course.” My curiosity spiked, but I didn’t press. Not yet.
“I was engaged once. Back in England. It was one of those matches that everyone wanted, but we did actually care for each other. A win-win, I suppose.”
His gaze was firmly fixed ahead—not just on the road, but on some glassy memory out there in the dark.
“But Claire died,” he said finally. “And that was that.” A pause. “I’ve had a few casual girlfriends since, here and there. But that was the last time I was in love.”
His voice was infuriatingly neutral, like a lecture or a lab report. I sat frozen, the warmth of his hand no match for the chill that had crept into the car with us.
My mind snagged on that throwaway line:a few casual girlfriends here and there.
Was that all I was? Another casual fling neatly slotted into the margins of his life?
I pulled away before I could stop myself, my fingers slipping from his grip.
