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He focuses on the road, his jaw and temples still pulsing, his hands tight on the steering wheel like he’s going to break it.
“I’m okay,” I reply, wishing he’d look at me and knowing he can’t take his eyes off the road.
Even if hedidlook at me—instead of stubbornly anywhere else like he’s angry at me for having to give me a ride—what would I expect to see?
It will never be the lust, hunger, affection, or desire to be more than a boyfriend.
A life partner… a husband?
Obsessed doesn’t even come close. I need to throw water on this fire within, but it rages and rages.
“How are your driving lessons going?” he asks after a pause.
“Not bad. I had a small crash during driver’s ed, which freaked me out. I feel like a big baby, but I’m over it now. I’m learning and it feels rewarding.”
“That’s good,” he says. “I hope the crash wasn’t too bad.”
We’re speaking mechanically, forcing the words out because it’s the thing people do, talk. It’s not like he actuallywantsto speak with me.
I almost ask about the fight between him and Adam, wondering if I’ll get more answers from Bryson, but I don’t because I won’t. He and Adam are friends again now. He won’t betray Adam’s trust.
“I’m sure Adam would help you out if you asked,” Bryson comments as we drive into my neighborhood.
It’s not in the rough part of town, but it’s not in the good one either.
“He’s offered, but I told him I wanted to make it on my own like he did.”
After a pause, I say, “I know Dad gave him some starter cash, but he grew it into a wildly successful business. Dad gavemesome starter cash too, and I want to do the same. With the podcast. Have you listened to it?”
I wish I could snatch that last part back.
The silence lengthens as the buildings get progressively less presentable around us. It’s not like I live in a graffiti-covered slum. I’m proud of what Tiffany and I can afford together.
“You probably haven’t,” I say quickly when he doesn’t reply.
“I don’t have much time for hobbies,” he says gruffly.
“I guess your new job keeps you pretty busy.”
“It does.”
“And your social life.”
When we come to a red light, he glances at me, blue flames in his eyes. Time seems to bend as he stares at me, as he holds me in place with his gaze, staring deeply, like the flickering of an obsession is beginning.
“I don’t have much of a social life over there.”
“What? Why?”
I remember Bryson and Adam going out together often, seeing friends, and returning with me sitting at the upstairs window, hungry for even a glimpse of him with his easy smirk and his intense demeanor.
“Work,” Bryson says gruffly, driving as the light turns green.
“Thanks for this,” I say after a pause.
I should probably just shut up. He’s probably annoyed with me for talking nonstop, but I feel I have to fill the silence, as though I’ll let a chance slip if I don’t.
This is the first time I’ve been alone with him.
