5. Friends?
5
Friends?
I wake up with a start, the honking of a car pulling me out of a dreamless sleep, and open my eyes halfway as the smell of leather and car freshener fills up my nostrils. I blink repeatedly and wait for my eyes to adjust to a light I did not anticipate. The first thing I see is a blue blanket covering me. We’re on the highway, and the sun is rising in the distance.
That’s when it comes back to me.
Haze showed up at the penthouse yesterday.
And knocked Kendrick out.
And sort of kidnapped me.
And I’m sort of pissed at him for all of the above.
I turn my head and see him driving. He’s been behind the wheel all night. This can only mean one thing: he’s taking me a lot farther away from Florida than I thought.
I refused to say a word to him from the moment he put me into the passenger seat of his ridiculously expensive car. He tried. He really did. But I have nothing to say to his player ass.
After keeping quiet for several hours, I ended up falling asleep. I have no idea where the blanket came from. Haze must’ve had it in his trunk and put it on me.
There he goes again doing the nicest thing ever to confuse me about the not so nice things he did before that.
“Good morning, sunshine,” he says, the sunrays illuminating the left side of his face giving him a freaking halo. Because he doesn’t already look like an angel enough as it is.
I ignore him and rub my eyes.
“Still not talking to me?”
I look out the window, resting my chin in the palm of my hand.
“Can I at least know why?”
I turn the volume to the radio up until the music is loud enough to cover up the awkward “I’m mad at you because you slept with Bianca” silence. Haze turns it down right away.
“You’re welcome for the blanket, by the way.”
No reply.
“You’ve got a little drool right there.” He points to the corner of his mouth.
My eyes widen and I quickly wipe away the drool from my mouth only to find out that it doesn’t exist.
“I do not!”
“I know, but you talked to me.” He grins.
“Idiot.” I mutter to myself.
“Seriously, what’s wrong? I thought you’d be happy to see me.”
“And why would you think that?” I huff.
“Man, I don’t know. Maybe because of what you said to Kendrick yesterday. You said and I quote, ‘You can’t stop me from seeing him.’ Now, I may not be an expert on female emotions and all, but that doesn’t sound like hate, does it?” he mocks.
“No, you know what? You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to make jokes after you just basically kidnapped me and punched my cousin in the face. Leave me alone.”
“So that’s what this is about.”
“Yes, it is,” I half lie. “Why did you do that?”
“Must I constantly repeat myself? I had two choices. A, take you away; B, respect the deal and leave you to die with your moronic cousin. I’d rather see you alive, thank you very much.”
A bit ironic that it took him a month to start worrying about my safety. I smell excuses.
“You don’t know that I was in any danger with the East side.”
“Yes, I do. They just lost a member to another gang. Word spreads. Everybody knows there was a traitor. They’re considered weak at the moment. Plus, like I said, it took me fifteen minutes to find you. You weren’t safe there.”
“What? And I’ll be safe with you?” I give him a challenging look.
“Of course, we’ll always be safe.” He smirks.
Why do I feel like he’s talking about something else?
I ignore his innuendo and go back to watching the passing trees through the window.
“Fine. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have hit him. Is that better?”
I sigh.
“Oh, come on, what do you want from me, woman? I had no choice. I did it for your protection.”
I scoff. “Ha, for my protection. Speaking of, I sure hope you used some with Bianca last month.”
His jaw drops.
Crap. Did I say that out loud?
The last thing I expected is what he does next. He takes the upcoming exit, gets us off the highway, and pulls over on the side of the road next to a gas station that’s beyond sketchy. He turns to me and stares until I have no choice but to face him. I can’t believe I said that. It just slipped.
“Who the hell told you that?” He asks.
“You mean, who told me the truth?”
He scratches his neck. “Winter, I…”
“Look, Haze. Don’t waste your breath. It’s okay. I get it. You really don’t owe me an explanation. You’re free to do what you want. It’s not like we’re together.”
I see a hint of annoyance glimmer in his stare, and panic stirs up in my chest. Why’d I have to say that we’re not together? I’m not saying that I don’t want us to be. I want us to be. But the question is, does he want us to be? Because sleeping with Bianca right after I leave town doesn’t exactly give me clear “let’s be a couple” vibes.
What do I say? What do I say? What do I say?
“I mean, we’re just friends.” I stumble on the words.
“Right…” He pauses, his jaw clenched. “Just friends.”
And just like that… I regret ever learning to speak.
He clears his throat, making it his life purpose to ignore my eyes locked on him, and stares into the emptiness.
“Good. At least, we’re clear on that.”
Shit.
Shit.
Shit.
Shit.
Did I just say the F word?
Yep. I definitely did.
I just said the F word. I, Winter Kingston, just friend-zoned the guy I want to make out with until I can’t breathe. Is there some kind of award for most likely to die alone? Or for the world’s best at sending hot guys the wrong signals?
Why are you so worried? You shouldn’t even want him. He slept with Bianca right after you left town, remember?
Like he’s reading my mind, he speaks again.
“And, for the record, I didn’t sleep with her. Hell, I couldn’t even kiss her for two seconds.”
“So… you did kiss her?” I ask even though I fear the answer.
He doesn’t reply right away, easing himself deeper into the driver’s seat like he’s trying to disappear. “Yeah.”
My heart aches. I try to cover my wince. At least he’s honest.
“Well, was it any good?” I feign carelessness.
Please, don’t answer that.
He glances at me in silence. Then, his gaze travels downward to my lips for an everlasting moment that sends shivers down my spine.
“I’ve had better.”
Is he talking about what I think he’s talking about?
Without a word, he leaves my thoughts to spiral out of control and fires up the car to get us back on the highway. I spend the next fifteen minutes reprimanding myself for letting the word friend out of my mouth. We can’t be just friends. Not after everything that happened. Not after he almost stripped me down in that motel room the day before the fight. He seemed to agree with my word vomit. He didn’t fight it. Does he actually want to be buddies? Did I ruin my chances?
We ride in heavy silence for about half an hour until he says, “We’re almost there.”
“Almost where?” I watch the approaching exit.
When he takes it, I dare believe that maybe, just maybe, wherever we’re going… it’s somewhere where we won’t be “ just friends. ”
He turns to look at me and smiles. “Home.”