3. Katie
KATIE
“Where are we going?” I demand.
“I already told you. Back to my place,” Darren grunts.
Now that he knows I’m safe and sound, he’s back to his usual growly, grumpy self. I consider asking Darren why he hates me so much – after all, what did I ever do to him?
“Why your place?” I ask. “Are we going to have sex?”
This question causes a strange, strangled noise to escape from Darren's throat. I grin, pleased to disarm him.
“Hell no,” he sputters. “We are definitely not going to have sex.”
“Oh. Ouch.”
“Because you're drunk,” Darren continues quickly. “Not because I don't want to. But that doesn’t mean I’m saying I do want to, either.”
“Got it. You’re neutral on sex.”
“Yes. Completely neutral.”
Darren’s Adam's apple bobs in his throat as he swallows. I am mesmerized by the movement. As I’ve always been when it comes to any of Darren’s body parts.
“Neutral,” I continue. “You’re like…like the Switzerland of sex.”
He shakes his head, the corner of his mouth lifting in a reluctant half-smile.
“You are so fucking drunk.”
“Am not.”
“Are too.”
He’s right, of course. I must have had four of those strawberry lemonades, which apparently contained vodka and rum.
In the light of the upcoming cars on the highway, I study Darren’s profile. He's got one thick, muscular arm on the steering wheel. The other one is resting on the windowsill.
The cracked window lets in enough air to ruffle his sandy brown hair. His blue-green eyes are on the road, but the muscle in the corner of his jaw is clenched tight, letting me know that this conversation is affecting him as much as it's affecting me.
God. I haven’t let myself stare at him like this in so long. In high school, I used to sneak looks at him constantly. Any time Dot and I were hanging out, which was practically every day, I’d find some excuse to say hi to him.
Back then, he could usually be found in the Bakers’ massive kitchen, standing at the sink devouring last night’s leftovers and anything else he could get his hands on.
Between puberty hitting him like a semi truck and his constant football practice, it seemed like Darren was always inhaling calories like there was no tomorrow.
I smile at the memory of finding him in the kitchen late one night when I slept over with Dot. I’d gotten up to get a drink, and there he was in his pajamas. Eating a bowl of Lucky Charms. Only, it wasn’t a normal cereal bowl. It was the giant red bowl that the Bakers used for popcorn.
When he saw me, we didn’t exchange a single word. He just opened up a drawer, grabbed another spoon, and handed it to me.
It was one of those moments where I felt like we were actually friends. Like I wasn’t just his little sister’s annoying friend.
“So…we're not having sex,” I say slowly. “But you're taking me back to your house because…?”
“Like I said, you’re drunk. Probably drunker than you even realize. Some real friends you have back there. They just abandoned you by the jukebox like that?”
“I only went by the jukebox so I could check my phone,” I say defensively.
To check my phone and to get a break from all of the people.
I hate things like bachelorette parties.
I always say yes to them, because if my friend is getting married, I’m going to show up for her.
But truthfully, I’d rather just stay home.
I don’t drink much, and bar hopping isn’t my idea of a fun time.
To make matters worse, tonight I didn’t even know many of these women very well. They were friends of the bride, but not people I’d hang out with normally. One of those women is Heather, a girl I’ve known since high school who always seems to have something rude to say.
“Regardless of what happened, you’re here now. I’m going to take you to my place and help you sober up. You can stay the night. I’ll sleep on the couch.”
I’m disappointed. I always imagined that if I ever stayed the night with Darren, it would be because we were hooking up. Not because he’s taking pity on me, or feels like I’m too stupid to be left alone.
I glance down at my little skirt and black tank top, the one that says brIDESMAID in pink sequined letters. I’m definitely showing a lot of skin tonight. If Darren was tempted at all, it seems like he’s made up his mind.
Neutral on sex is just another way of saying no, isn’t it? I mean, are men ever really neutral about sex? I thought it was either a hell yes or a no thank you. Then again, I’ve never actually done the deed, so what do I know?
I’ve come pretty close to doing it. Could have done it if I wanted to. But it never felt like the right man, or the right time. Or I’d have some other reason for backing off.
Truthfully? It’s because none of the possible candidates ever made me feel the way Darren made me feel.
I lean my head against the cracked window on my side of the truck, inhaling the fresh breeze that mixes with Darren’s scent, which seems to be soaked into the upholstery. I close my eyes and curl up into my seat, imagining he’s still holding me the way he had when he carried me out of that bar.
“Is it true that you used to love me?”
I open my eyes at the sound of his voice, soft and slow with a slight scratch in his throat like he’s been holding onto that question for a while.
“Of course,” I whisper. “Why do you think I wanted to kiss you?”
He shrugs a shoulder.
“I knew you liked the way that I looked. I was used to that kind of attention from girls.”
I huff. Yes, I’m aware of the way the girls in our town would obsess over Darren Baker. To say that they were obsessed would be an understatement. Then again, I was right there alongside them. Hopelessly infatuated.
“They liked me because I was on the football team,” he says. “That’s all.”
“No. They liked you because you’re you ,” I correct him. “You’re sexy and funny and kind and…”
I shut my mouth before I embarrass myself.
I could list all of the things I like about Darren for days but what would be the point? Why am I handing ammunition over to my enemy? Admitting I still feel anything for him is like handing him my heart. Here you go, Darren. Break it again.
“So you thought I just wanted to kiss you because you were a hot football player?” I ask him.
“Maybe.”
“Like I was objectifying you?”
He grins.
“Probably. I don’t know. You were sixteen and full of hormones.”
“And you were seventeen.”
“No, I was eighteen.”
“Barely. Our birthdays are only a few days apart, remember? You act like the gap in our age was so significant but it wasn’t.”
“It wasn’t about the number of years between us,” he replies. “It was about the fact that you were Dot’s best friend. That’s an automatic barrier. If you hadn’t been her friend already, if I’d just met you in the cafeteria at school…”
He drifts off and it’s maddening. I desperately want to hear the end of this sentence, so much that I’m literally holding my breath.
“Let’s just say that when we kissed, it was the beginning of losing all control.”