Page 37 of The Social Affair (New Hope 1)

I glance down at my hands. Anything to avoid appearing too eager. People like it when you’re unsure. It gives them the satisfaction of convincing you. People like to win. Especially people like Grant Dunn.

“We can discuss the book,” he adds.

I pretend to think it over. My eyes dart to the clock on the dash. This buys me time. He wants to have to work for it.

I watch as his fingers tighten around the wheel. He doesn’t know it, but he appreciates the suspense. It’s the best part of the game. Will she or won’t she?

Finally, I shrug as though to say why not. He flips the blinker and pulls onto the highway. It’s a good thing I am prepared. I did actually read some of that stupid book. Not enough to really discuss it in detail. But enough so he won’t know the difference. Mostly though, he’ll want to tell me his interpretation rather than hear mine. He’ll be nice and satisfied if I throw in a question, just a slight but what if. He’ll want a minuscule difference of opinion, a slight disagreement. But not a real one. He’ll correct me and feel smart doing so. With a bit of hesitation, I’ll agree, before I finally admit the truth—that I have no idea how I could have missed that.

We drive into the night. He puts the top down. It’s chilly out, but I don’t care. This feels dangerous, reckless—necessary ingredients. He turns up the heat, and then grabs his coat from the back. He lays it over me. Holiday lights twinkle in the distance. “Won’t you be cold?” I ask, but it’s so loud in a convertible. I hadn’t realized it would be this loud. I’m not sure whether he hears me or not.

He smiles. “I spend my days in a hospital, remember? The OR trains you to embrace the cold.”

I hadn’t thought of it that way. But that’s the thing about Grant Dunn: He’s considerate. He takes thought a level or two above what you’d expect. He’s unpredictable.

Eventually, we pull off the highway, and the lights fade until it is just us on a two-lane open road.

“Do you like to go fast?” he asks, a wry grin plastered on his face like it’s a permanent fixture. Like it comes with the car.

I want to say yes. But I jut out my bottom lip and raise my brow instead, because it’s hard to answer that question when you don’t even own a vehicle.

“Would you like to find out?”

“Sure,” I yell. I don’t mean to. I’m just not sure how my voice is going to come out in the open air.

He floors it, which forces my head back against the seat. It’s like being in a slingshot, being launched into outer space. It feels so good, so free. I would go to the edges of space with Grant Dunn. I would go anywhere with him.

We drive for a bit, fast, too fast. Eventually, he slows and pulls off onto the side of the road. He puts the car in park, and I should be scared about what comes next, about being out in the middle of nowhere with a man I hardly know. But I’m not. I smooth my hair away from my face.

It’s dark, practically pitch black, save for the headlights. “Look up,” he says, and I do. There are stars up above, entire galaxies I’ve never seen.

We sit there in silence for a long while. I inhale the fresh air, fill my lungs with it. I hold it in. I never want to let go. It smells like pine needles and freedom. I’d stay here forever staring at this kind of magic if I could.

But everything changes.

At some point he gets out of the car, walks around to my side and opens the door. “It looks better from the hood,” he motions. He offers his hand. “That and it’s warmer there.”

“There,” he says, and I perch myself on the hood. He stands in front of me. Neither of us are looking at the stars anymore.

“Mr. Dunn—” I say, knowing what’s coming. Part of me is trying to put the brakes on. Part of me can’t help myself.

He shakes his head slowly. “Don’t call me that. Call me Grant,” he tells me. “Or doctor, if you must,” he adds with a sly smile. It fades quickly. Too quickly. “Anything but that.”

It feels awkward with him standing over me. I want him to make his move, and yet I don’t, because I know this is the start of something. Also, that it’s the beginning of the end.

“Okay,” I say. “Thank you, Grant.”

“Better.”

I rest on my elbow and let my head fall all the way back until it feels like I’m looking at the whole world upside down. This is the way I feel. Upside down. Inside out. A thousand tiny instances I could have stopped this one-way train we’re on, and in all of them I could never quite make myself pull the cord. I know it only goes one way or the other from here, and I know that if I reject him which way that is. The rides will stop, this— whatever this is— it all goes away. And to be frank, I’m sick of things going away.

I don’t know what to say in that moment, so I default to sarcasm. “You could kill me out here and no one would know…”

He lowers his voice, and I don’t know how he does it but it’s so thick and smooth it’s suffocating. “I’d never hurt you Izzy,” he says, and it’s the first time I know for sure he’s telling me a lie.

“Oh, I don’t know about that.”

He leans down, and he’s so close now I can taste my future. All I know is I want him in it.

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