Page 25 of Broken Pieces
She leans back on the headrest, looking outside at the city lights.
“Are you okay?” I whisper softly. I know this is a stupid question, but I ask it anyway. Not hearing her sweet fucking voice is killing me.
“Yeah. I mean, I probably deserved it. I said yes to dance with him anyway.” She lets out a humorless laugh.
The raging feeling to go back and punch, kick, and break the guy’s teeth for making her feel like she is to blame for the situation comes rushing back.
I shake my head. “No, Darling. Just because you said yes to a dance doesn't mean you signed up to get groped.”
“Why were you there?” she asks in a whisper, changing the topic.
“What do you mean?” I deflect.
“You, at the club. That is not your scene, at all,” she points out, looking at me with suspicion.
I shrug. “I was there with my cousin and his best friend.”Technically, not a lie.
“Uh-huh,” she says, unconvinced. “Well, thank you for saving me or whatever. Very chivalrous of you.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Chivalrous, huh? That's an upgrade from arrogant dick.”
“Well, don't get used to it,” she says with a hint of amusement in her voice.
And my girl is finally back with her funny banters, making me instantly relaxed.
'My girl' sure has a nice ring to it.
“Areyou hungry?” I don’t want to just drop her off and be on my way. I want to make sure she’s okay, and feels safe. Plus, I selfishly want to make this night last as long as possible.
“Considering I've only had endless margaritas and tequila shots without food because Sophia wanted us to get drunk… Yes. I’m starving.”
“Sophia sounds like a real piece of work.” I shake my head with a laugh. That sounds something my cousin, Enzo, would totally do too.
“Yes. But I love her nevertheless.” She laughs.
We keep driving in silence the rest of the way until we arrive at a Mexican food truck near the gallery that I often enjoy. I park and quickly get out of the car to open the passenger door. The air smells like carne asada and cilantro, the food truck busy with activity.
We order our food, and they quickly call our names. There aren't any seats, and we don't want to sit inside the car, so we opt for the sidewalk. I go to my car and bring out another jacket and place it on the sidewalk so she doesn’t have to sit on the concrete, wanting her to be comfortable.
We eat without saying much, just watching some kids run around the parking lot as we eat our tacos.
As she’s taking a bite, I ask, “Are you ever going to follow me back on Instagram?”
She pauses mid-bite and looks at me, surprise lacing her face. She chews and swallows quickly before replying, “So, you did follow me on Instagram. I thought it was a mistake.”
I take a sip of my pineapple soda as I frown. “Why would you think that?”
“Because you only follow your business accounts.”
I hum, opting for not replying. It’s true. I’m not a huge social media person, and I barely follow anyone, because if I’m being honest, I couldn’t give a rat’s ass about what people are up to. But Aria isn't like other people.
“Well?” She raises an eyebrow, waiting for my reply.
I bite my taco and chew thoroughly, taking my time to respond. “No comment.” I’m not about to tell her that she’s become my business somehow. Much less confess she’s been invading my every thought.
She rolls her eyes, but doesn’t press the issue, just swiftly changes the topic. “Never thought you were a food truck kind of guy,” she says, taking a huge bite of her taco.
I act offended. “What is that supposed to mean? I can enjoy some good street food.”
