Chapter 9 #2
Then, because the universe refuses to let me stay emotionally balanced for more than thirty seconds at a time, Blake shifts, looks at me, and says:
“So. Date.”
I blink.
“Are you serious right now?”
“Yes.”
I let out a disbelieving laugh. “You are unbelievable.”
“I’m persistent.”
“You are relentless.”
He considers that. “Also true.”
The cab turns onto Zane’s street, and I rub at my forehead with two fingers.
“Blake.”
“Lisa.”
“I do not have my life together enough to go on a date with you.”
He doesn’t even flinch. “That sounds fixable.”
“No, it sounds honest.”
He studies me, and to my horror, I feel myself wanting to tell him the truth. Not all of it. Not the ugly middle. But enough.
“I’m staying with Zane,” I say. “I’m jobless. I’m rebuilding everything. I need to get my own place eventually, figure out what I’m doing, and…” I exhale. “I don’t even have a car.”
Blake’s head tilts. “That’s the problem?”
“It’s one of them.”
“Ok.”
The cab stops outside the building.
Before I can ask what that means, Blake reaches into his pocket, pulls out a key fob, and drops it straight into my lap.
I stare at it.
Then at him.
Then back at the key.
“…What is this?”
“My car.”
I laugh because there is no other reasonable response. “Absolutely not.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“It’s temporary.”
“You cannot give me your car.”
“I am lending it to you. And I can. I just did.”
I try to hand it back. He folds my fingers over it.
“I’m not taking your car.”
“You said you need one.”
“I said I need to get my life together.”
“Great,” he says. “Transportation helps.”
I shake my head, half-horror, half-amused. “This is insane.”
“It’s practical.”
“It is not practical. It is unhinged.”
“Both can be true.”
I push the key toward him again. He doesn’t take it.
“Blake.”
“Lisa.”
“Be serious.”
“I am serious.”
That startles me enough to make me stop.
He leans in a little, expression steady now. No teasing. No wink. No charm weaponized into deflection.
“I’m asking you out,” he says. “You keep telling me your life is complicated. Fine. I believe you. But I’m not waiting around for perfect timing that doesn’t exist.” His eyes hold mine.
“So here’s the deal. Borrow the car. Let me take you out once.
One date. If it’s terrible, you can hand me the keys back and tell me I’m the most annoying man in Chicago. ”
I stare at him.
“That is manipulative.”
“It’s efficient.”
“It’s blackmail with leather seats.”
His mouth twitches. “You guessed the interior.”
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
The worst part is that he says it gently. Like he knows. Like, he isn’t even trying to win, just trying to stay in the conversation long enough for me to stop running from it.
I look down at the key in my hand.
Then back at him.
“This is too much.”
“For tonight?” he asks.
“For… everything.”
He nods once. “Ok.”
He reaches for the door handle, and for one wild second, I think he’s giving up.
Instead, he gets out, comes around my side, and opens the door for me. He offers me his hand, as if this is perfectly normal behavior and not the most disorienting male interaction I have had in years.
I take it.
Because apparently I’ve learned nothing.
The night air hits my face, cool and quiet after the noise of the party.
Blake closes the cab door behind me and nods toward the building.
“Walk me through this,” he says.
“This?”
“Your objections. One at a time.”
I laugh because I have to. “You are exhausting.”
“And yet.”
I glare at him.
He smiles.
“Fine,” I say. “One: I barely know you.”
“You knew me when I was blond and tiny.”
“You were not tiny, remember?”
“See? Already arguing like a married couple.”
I look away so he can’t see me smile. “That was not a real point.”
“Ok. You barely know me now. Fair.”
“Two: you’re my brother’s best friend.”
“Strong point. Still not a dealbreaker.”
“For you.”
“For Zane, either, if I handle it right.”
I stop walking and turn toward him. “You are not pitching my brother on dating me like this is a trade negotiation.”
He lifts both hands. “Noted.”
“Three,” I continue, because I’m on a roll now, “you’re a hockey player.”
“That sounded judgmental.”
“It was.”
He gasps softly. “I’m wounded.”
“Be serious.”
He sobers at once. “Ok. Three. I’m a hockey player.”
“You have a lifestyle.”
“I live in an apartment and eat a concerning amount of pasta.”
“That is not what I mean.”
“I know.”
The streetlight catches on his face then, softening him. It makes him look less like the loud party version of Blake. He looks more like the man who watched me across a room and quietly volunteered to bring me home.
“What else?” he asks.
I hesitate.
Because the real answer is not one I’m ready to say out loud.
The real answer is:
I barely escaped someone who made my whole life feel small. Right now, you make me feel too much, too fast, and I don’t know if that’s dangerous or healing.
Instead, I say, “I’m a mess.”
He doesn’t answer immediately.
Then, very softly, “You seem like a woman who had to be strong for too long.”
My throat tightens.
I hate that he said exactly the right thing. I hate it even more that he says it without pity. Just… understanding.
I look away first.
Again.
“You make it really hard to dislike you,” I mutter.
“That sounds promising.”
“It wasn’t meant to.”
“Still counting it.”
We’re standing outside Zane’s building now. I’m close enough that I can see my reflection faintly in the glass doors behind Blake.
Purple dress. Smudged lipstick. Champagne still in my system. Car key in my hand that absolutely should not be there.
“This doesn’t mean yes,” I tell him.
“It means maybe.”
“It means I’m borrowing the car because apparently you’ve lost your mind.”
“And?”
“And…” I exhale. “And I’ll think about the date.”
Blake smiles then. Not smug. Not triumphant. Just pleased.
Like that was all he wanted.
“Good,” he says.
I point the key at him. “Temporary.”
“Of course.”
“And if I hate your car…”
“You won’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
“It has heated seats.”
I hate how much that affects me. He sees it.
His grin widens. “Thought so. I’ll text you the plate later. I’ll have it dropped here in the morning.”
I roll my eyes and turn toward the entrance before I do something idiotic, like smile at him again.
“Goodnight, Blake.”
“Night, Lisa.”
I take three steps, then hear him behind me.
“Oh, and Lisa?”
I look back.
“When I ask you out again tomorrow, I’d like credit for consistency.”
I stare at him.
Then shake my head, smiling despite every instinct I have.
“You are unbelievable.”
“See you soon, trouble.”
I go inside before he can watch what that does to me.
But up in the elevator, alone with my reflection and his car key still clutched in my hand, I can’t help smiling.
Which is probably the most dangerous part of all.