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Sergei presses his lips together. “I wish she had chosen a college in a state I can drive to.”
“We’ve talked about this.” Aunt Maeve comforts him with words and a peck on the cheek. “Making her own way is important to Ana. The last thing she needs is a guilt trip.”
Sergei’s jaw is clamped so tightly his molars might not survive the grinding. He doesn’t argue, however. I am a lot less amenable to Aunt Maeve’s stoic attitude.
“Maybe she’ll hate it in California,” I say, trying not to sound so damn hopeful. “If it doesn’t work out, it’s never too late to find a placement elsewhere.”
“Already planning for me to fail, huh. Thanks for the vote of confidence, Bryce,” Ana says from the front door.
“That’s not what I mean.” I’m embarrassed about what I said, but apologizing now feels disingenuous. She rolls her eyes. “Of course, you’re not going to fail,” is my lame attempt to amend the misunderstanding.
Ana makes no indication of hearing me. She breezes past to give Declan a kiss on the cheek. Mom admires the cupcakes and Uncle Matt calls dibs on the one with the most frosting.
For the rest of dinner, I might as well be invisible, with Ana’s determination to look anywhere but at me. That is, until she gets ready to leave.
“Bryce, can we talk for a minute? Maybe walk me to my car?”
If I got plugged into a light socket, I don’t think I’d be more shocked.
“Sure.” I shrug to hide my intense curiosity.
When she’s completed her farewells, she looks me up and down as if to say get your act together, slowpoke, I have places to be.
I take too long to slip into my shoes, so Ana tugs my wrist, impatient to get us out the door. With her fingers against my pulse, I follow. Of course I do. I’d follow her over a bridge. Obviously, I’d try to talk her out of jumping, but there’s no other way to put it: we’re tethered, so I follow.
There isn’t a leash in the world stronger than her willingness to touch me.
I had the foresight to park my car around the corner, knowing I needed two minutes alone with Bryce where no one would see us.
“Why didn’t you bring the SUV? It’s supposed to rain later,” he says grumpily.
This again. For some reason, Bryce gets annoyed any time he sees or hears about my Viper, like the existence of my vehicle is a personal insult to him.
With exaggerated hand gestures, I state, “I have what’s called a roof, Bryce.”
“It’s the handling you need to watch for when the roads are slick.”
“My tires are new.”
“An engine with this much power doesn’t always transmit properly, not with a light chassis. You’ll be wheel spinning and torque steering if you—”
“Oh my god, shut up already!” I exclaim. “I didn’t haul you out here to talk about how my car handles in the rain!”
In impeccably timed mockery of my statement, the first raindrops ping the Viper’s roof.
“Get in,” he orders and then groans when I pull back the fabric roof and jump in from the window. No door handles, remember?
When he sees that I’m secure, he jumps on the other side and helps me pull the roof back in place. Steady spring rain pummels the windshield while waves of resentfulness fill the car.
Bryce MacElroy annoyed at me? What a surprise.
“I’m sorry you have to put up with me and my car, but it won’t take long.”
“I’m not complaining about that, Ana.”
“But you are complaining.”
“I still can’t believe Sergei is letting you drive this across the country when you move for college. It’s ridiculous!”
