Page 54 of Running
Shoot, how am I going to politely say no?
“No need, I got her,” says a second male voice.
Up into the beams of the parking lot light steps Johnson. Looking brutally handsome with his formal shirt unbuttoned and holding his suit jacket in one hand.
“Oh shit, you’re Johnson Samuels,” Patrick spouts with awe.
“Yes, and I’ve got her,” he repeats.
“No problem, man. I can’t wait to see the Waves play. My Aunt Susie has season?—“
“If you’re family to Susie, I’m more than happy to chat another time. But right now, it’s late, and I’m getting Grace home.” Patrick shuts his mouth and nods.
Johnson turns his attention to me, looking as intense as I’ve ever seen him. “Keys, Little Battle?”
Patrick is still watching, so I don’t feel in a position to protest Johnson’s command. I hand him the keys, and when he unlocks the car door, I sit compliantly in the passenger seat.
As he slips into the driver’s seat, I don’t miss what he quietly says to himself.
“Notthatguy.”
We drive in silence for the first few minutes. It’s after midnight, and the trip to my condo will take over forty minutes.
By the end of the event, the sting from Johnson’s earlier words had already faded to almost nothing, all the compliments and enthusiastic discussions from the rest of the evening helping me forget what happened during our dance.
And now, any lingering hurt has been fully replaced by confusion over what exactly is going on here.
Finally, I decide to break the silence.
“You didn’t need to do that.”
“I kinda did. Did you really want that guy to drive you home in the middle of the night?”
Well, when he puts it that way. “No, you’re right.”
He grunts in acknowledgement.
“Plus, you don’t like to drive in the dark.”
Oh, he remembered that?
I think of another question. “What about your car?”
“I’ll Uber back to get mine. No biggie.” He has an answer for everything, I guess. “Can you put your address in the GPS?” He hands me his phone.
We’ve just hit the highway, and he’s on the right track, but he’ll need directions to get me to my place.
Once we’re settled on our route, I see him relax a bit in his seat.
But then his next words make me tense up.
“So, are you going to tell me what I said wrong? Why you stopped our dance?”
Ugh, he went there. And I’m captive in this car, so I have to saysomething.
I’m silent for a beat too long, and he fills the quiet. “Grace, the last thing I want to do is upset you. Tell me what I did so I can avoid doing it in the future.”
“Well…” I pick at the lace on my skirt, needing to fiddle with something. “It felt like you were being dismissive of what happened between us. Like you were flaking out on what you said at your house that morning. And I got my feelings hurt, that’s all. I’m fine now. Over it.”
