Chapter 7
Nick
The Maserati eased out of the Starbuck’s drive-thru and I leaned back into the plush leather seat. Careful not to spill my coffee, I took a sip and let out a content sigh.
“Since I plan to drink as we drive, it’s only fair you get to do it too.”
The problem was I had no skin in the game. Henry had money. Enough money to buy a car worth more than I’d earned so far in my lifetime. “Let me rephrase that. I’m afraid to drink in this car.”
We left the shopping center and the engine purred like it knew it would be on the open road soon.
“The car’s been treated to prevent stains,” Henry said. “Unless you plan to pour your coffee all over, it’s not a problem.”
I wondered what it would be like to have so many nice things you didn’t worry what happened to your hundred thousand plus car.
Which was totally unfair. Henry had tried to make me relax and be comfortable, and I mind fucked it into, ‘must be nice.’ “Yes, because I couldn’t possibly spill it accidentally. ”
“I’m sorry. I realize how privileged that sounds.
” The light turned green, and he eased us onto the access road to the expressway.
“What I meant was, I bought the car to use it, not store it in my garage. As nice as it is, it’s not a one of a kind.
Everything can be replaced. Which is still very privileged. Sorry.”
His attempts to make me feel better only made me feel worse.
We’d only met a couple of times, but he’d never thrown his money in my face—other than the car and that was him living his life, not bragging.
“You don’t need to apologize. To me, this car is something I can only dream of owning.
I’d treat it like a museum piece, because I couldn’t afford to replace anything. But for you, it’s your car.”
In the silence that followed, we merged on to I-270. The ride was so smooth, if I closed my eyes, it’d be impossible to tell how fast we were going. Henry tapped a button on the console and the voice told us to stay on I-270 for twenty-nine point six miles.
“Wow,” I said. “Even the voice sounds Italian and luxurious.”
“It might sound nice, but some of the words come out weird.” He turned down the volume. “I’m sorry if I make you uncomfortable.”
Henry didn’t, he’d been nothing but sweet. The car, the restaurant he picked, the B&B we were staying at, however, were brilliant flares that illustrated our different social status. “You don’t. This is all me.”
“I think you might be confused on the whole, “it’s not you, it’s me” speech.”
I snorted and side eyed him. “Is there a message in there?”
“Yes?” His loopy smile told me we were going to be okay. “Right now, you’re sitting like you’re afraid you’ll damage something. You won’t. I promise. The car is made for people to use.”
I’d spent a lot of the night thinking about this.
I hadn’t planned to discuss it so soon, but we were here, so best to address the issue head on.
At least I hoped it would be the right decision.
Huffing out a breath, I dove in headfirst. “I might get a little weird around expensive things. No, make that I definitely get weird. It’s how I grew up.
‘Don’t touch that Nicky, I can’t afford to pay for it if you break it.
’ ‘No, you can’t have that, do you think we’re made of money?
’ Or my favorite, ‘Don’t go making friends with the rich kids because you can’t afford to keep up.
’ I heard variations of those my whole life.
Believe it or not, this is way better than I was before. Alex has been helping me.”
I wanted to reach over and touch him, but I stopped halfway across the center console. “What I’m trying to say is, this really is my issue, so don’t go walking on tippy toes around me or else I’ll show angry Nick.”
The thing about a high-end car is there’s almost no noise. Normally it was a good thing, but when the response to your coming clean was complete silence, the quiet was excruciating.
Worse, was when the guy you like burst out laughing.
If we weren’t doing seventy-five on the highway, I’d have taken off and made sure Henry never saw me again. I wasn’t just hurt, I was humiliated. Henry must have seen my face, because he held up his free hand.
“I’m so sorry. I was trying to think of how to respond as you were speaking and then you toss in tippy toes. All I could hear was the line from “Sing 2” when the dance teacher kept saying ‘tippy toes, tippy toes.’ I wasn’t laughing at what you told me. Honestly.”
Now that he put the image in my head, I laughed too. “You saw Sing 2?”
“You say it like it’s such a shock.”
Another example of my prejudices. It never occurred to me someone as successful as Henry would watch an animated movie. “Not gonna lie, I’m surprised.”
“You wouldn’t be if you knew me better.”
I didn’t know how to answer him. Had he just told me he hoped I stuck around? Was that wishful thinking? Or maybe I should stop feeling sorry for myself and accept that someone like Henry would be interested in me. “Something I hope you want me to do.”
“Absolutely.” He flexed and relaxed his fingers around the leather wrapped steering wheel. “I’m not trying to buy your affection, but I also don’t want to watch what I say and do. If I did that, it wouldn’t be me. And I want you to like me, not some fake version.”
I’d prepared a mini speech about being considerate of each other’s upbringing, but ditched it when I heard that last part. “I already like the real you, so don’t change.”
“I wasn’t fishing for a compliment, you know.”
My palms were sweaty and my heart beat a mile a minute as I tried to decide if I should go all in.
He’d been plenty clear he wanted me to stick around.
I knew what I wanted, and I needed to show him I could be brave too.
I slowly reached out and placed my hand on his leg.
He didn’t flinch away and it felt like a sign that he wanted me to stay, so I left my hand there.
“I wouldn’t have said it if I thought you wanted a compliment,”
Henry’s light laughter filled the car. “Is that how it is?” He dropped his hand to cover mine, sending shivers through me.
I’d never been this bold with a guy I liked. It was both exhilarating and a bit frightening. “Yep. Don’t expect me to stroke your ego just because you want me to. I’ll only do that when you deserve it.”
“Good to know that you’ll stroke things if they deserve it.” He said, with the barest hint of a smirk.
Unless I was really into someone, a charged comeback like Henry’s would turn me off. Henry turned me on. Probably because I’d stroke every bit of him if I got the chance. “Hopefully the reverse holds true.”
“Count on it.” He tightened his fingers around mine.
Those three words went straight to my cock. The angsty warble in my stomach from putting myself out there became a swarm of butterflies thinking about what would happen later. “Nice.”
“Since you studied the ‘Visit Frederick’ website, what would you like to do when we’re there?”
The bucket of cold water Henry had thrown on our flirting was probably a good thing. We still had an hour drive ahead of us. Still, I couldn’t just let it go. “Changing topics much?”
“You know it. Let’s get there safely, then you can throw all the double entendres you like at me.”
I liked the flirty banter better, but knowing it was welcome was more than enough. “When I searched the website, nothing jumped out at me that we had to do. I got the addresses of the antique shops and mapped out a good route for a run, but that’s about it. We can do whatever you wanted.”
“That works. I have a reservation at Bolt for 7:30.”
When Henry said he’d gotten reservations at a nice restaurant, I didn’t think he meant one whose website said you needed to book days, even weeks, in advance. “How’d you manage to snag a table on two days’ notice?”
“I used the company name.”
The reminder that we were from different worlds shouldn’t have hit me in the gut like it did. We’d supposedly gotten past this issue, but my brain didn’t get the message. “Gotcha.”
An awkward silence followed. It was supposed to be a simple drive in my dream car.
Not a date with a sleepover. I should never have let Brenda fill my head with the idea I was good enough for Henry.
Objectively, I had little to offer that couldn’t be found in much higher-end models.
Once Henry got passed the newness, and kicked the tires a bit more, he’d realize I wasn’t the right one.
“Trevor told me you’re a serious runner. Said you won a bunch of medals in college.”
Henry had somehow clued in to my mindset and tried to steer the conversation to something positive about me.
His subtle attempts to make me feel good about myself were going to ensure my heart got shattered when we didn’t work out.
“Before I answer you, I want to say thanks. Not many guys would’ve picked up on what I was feeling and moved the conversation like you did. ”
Henry’s posture was more rigid, and he kept his eyes on the road. “And I thought I wasn’t being obvious. Sorry.”
As a rule, manipulating someone’s emotions was inherently bad, but I could forgive Henry this one time because it came from a good place.
“You get points for the effort. But how did that even come up? ‘Hey, Henry great to see you. Did you want to stay for dinner? We’re having chicken. My roommate got a cross-country scholarship to Fordham. How’s your mom? ’”
My attempt at humor didn’t get a laugh, but it worked well enough as Henry visibly relaxed. “Your bedroom is next to the bathroom. I saw the trophies and medals and I asked Trevor.”
I wasn’t sure which was worse, the weird conversation while I was out or that he’d had a chance to see I was a borderline slob. “I couldn’t store them at home because, you know.” My asshole brother would be sure to throw them out the minute I left.
“What got you into running?”
Unfortunately for Henry, why I excelled at running involved another miserable Fenton Family memory.
“My brother is six years older than me. As I mentioned yesterday, he’s a total tool.
Has been since I was little. He used to pick on me every chance he got.
In my family, boys needed to man up. It didn’t matter what Jacob did, Dad always found a reason to excuse it and tell me to toughen up.
Since I couldn’t win a fight with my brother no matter how much I toughened up, I learned to run away. ”
“That worked? I mean wasn’t he faster than you since he was older.”
This is why visuals were so important. Not that I had a picture of my family, nor would I ever proudly share it with anyone. “In theory you’d be right, but everyone in my family except me, is short and, being polite, we’ll say they’re compact.”
“Compact?”
So much for politically correct. “Fat. Jacob, like everyone else in my family is short and fat. I was always tall and skinny. People figured I was adopted when they saw us together.”
“Adopted?