Page 38 of Shut Up and Drive

“See? You like it. I like it. Flirting with each other is part of our thing,” he insists, and I can’t argue.

“Rule number three,” he says slowly, “because apparently we can’t control the chemistry between us, we keep our time together in groups. That is, except for this road trip, because we didn’t really have a choice in that one—unless you want to pick up a hitchhiker.”

He’s right. There’s no way we can deny the magnetism we have for each other. Safety in numbers is the only way to put a leash on it.

I laugh. “Yes to chaperones, no to the hitchhiker idea. I don’t feel like being turned into a skin-suit today.

“Rule number four: avoid talking about our past—except for platonic memories—until we’rebothready to discuss it,” I say, although I know that I’m the one holding the dam back on this one. Before he can jump in and add another rule, more words stumble out of my mouth beforeI lose my nerve. “And rule number five: give each other the opportunity to move on.”

I watch his Adam’s apple slide up and down his throat slowly as he swallows what I’ve said. His eyes cast downward for a second before returning to the road. It hurts me to say it as much as it hurts him to hear it, and I almost regret throwing it out there. I pause, letting the tension settle between us, and pray that he will be the one to break the silence. Or, better yet, veto rule number five.

But he doesn’t.

He nods painfully and says, “Okay,” with a cracked voice. His voice is so quiet and full of defeat that I question whether I heard him correctly. “Whatever you need, Fina,” he finishes, then exits the freeway. “I need a pit stop.”

He pulls into the first gas station we come to and gets out in silence. The doors to the convenience store shut behind him before I can even unbuckle, and I sit there, stunned.

Guilt presses down in my gut. “What have I done?” I whisper to myself.

When he comes back out, he has two bottles of soda and two gas station burritos in his hands. I check my face in the mirror and decide to disguise my red eyes with sunglasses. He climbs in, leans over the console, and hands me a Cherry Pepsi and a hot burrito.

“I thought you might be hungry, and I owe you a soda since I left yours behind in Philly yesterday.”

“Thank you,” I say, humbled by his thoughtfulness.

I force myself to focus on my burrito wrapper to avoid the inevitable thawing of my heart that has already started. Despite the complications between us, his warmth has thepower to draw me in like it always has. And if we lock eyes, I’ll relive a hundred memories in a moment—which is something I can’t afford to do right now. My breath hitches and I want more than anything to bridge the chasm of pain spanning between us. But the only way I know how to do that is to ignore the hurt and move forward, so I do.

“I didn’t think I’d ever be hungry again after Pearl’s biscuits and gravy, but for some reason, I’m starving!” I say as I take a bite. “So, what do you want to talk about first?”

He dives into his burrito as well and pulls toward the freeway. After he chews and swallows, he says, “I want to hear about thisBradcharacter.” He holds his hand up to stop my protest, then adds, “And in return, I’ll tell you about the time I met Henry Cavill.”

An involuntary grin lights up my face, and he knows he’s got me hook, line, and sinker.

“If you’re going to hold my Henry hostage like that, then fine, I’ll take the bait. What do you want to know about me and Bradley? And no weird questions. Stick to the basics.”

“Did you love him?”

“Aaand, you’re coming out swinging,” I say with an uncomfortable laugh. When his stare is unmoving, I relent. “I guess I loved theideaof him.”

“Yet you stayed with him for, what,a year? Why?”

“Well…” I pause to find the best way to respond, “because it was better than being alone?” My voice rises at the end and I cringe, because hearing myself admit it out loud makes the shame real. “I know that sounds so shallow, but you know as well as I do that the city will swallow a person whole. Sometimes it’s just nice knowing that someone cares.”

“Then why did you break up with him?”

My eyes fall to my lap, and my burrito turns to ash in my mouth.

“Let me guess. He had eyebrows that were too bushy? Wait, no. He had weird elbows. Is that it?” he presses, lightening the mood a bit.

I remember that once upon a time, Thane was the only person I didn’t feel judgment from, so I gather up my itty-bitty courage and let the words fall out before I turn tail and run.

“More like a cheating problem.”

Thane’s face scrunches up in disgust.

“Despicable, huh? I can’t even keep a guysemi-interested in me,” I say, keeping my gaze cemented on my shaky hands.

“You really think it’syourfault that he’s a horrible guy? Don’t you dare blame yourself for his stupidity. You’re incredible, and anyone who can’t see that is an idiot.”