Page 16 of The Worst Kind of Promise
I know the socially acceptable response is to thank him and smile, but I can’t get myself to do either of those things. Nobody’s ever complimented me this much before, nor did they mean it as deeply as I know Kit does. He’s so certain of everything. He always has been. Even after admitting how nervous I make him, how lost for words he is sometimes, he speaks with a decisiveness and truthfulness that comes from the heart.
The farther I fall down this Kit rabbit hole, the more likely I am to get stuck. Something festers deep within me, warning me that I need to think with my head instead of my heart. I’ll never forgive myself if our friendship experiences irreversible damage. Not to mention that I couldn’t live with myself if I betrayed my brother’s trust.
With a conflicting mess of emotions inside me, I slide out of my chair, extending an outturned palm. “Come on, Casanova. Let’s get this show on the road.”
MOM, I THINK I MADE A BIG MISTAKE
KIT
How much luggage could one woman possibly need for the summer?
Apparently a fuckton, because the entire trunk of my car is bulging with miscellaneous suitcases and carry-ons. Every time the Jeep sways or stutters, something pings around back there like a pinball in a machine.
Faye seems a lot more relaxed than she did at breakfast, which is weird considering that it’s just dawned on me how real my summer’s about to become. I’m internally freaking out. I might’ve said a lot of charming stuff at the café, but oftentimes when I speak, I usually have zero recollection of what came out of my mouth. And whatever confidence was instilled in me during that blissful crêpe coma has dissipated into thin air.
Faye has her toned, tanned legs propped up on the dashboard, her dirty sneakers discarded on the floor, and each time I glance over at her, the hem of her Daisy Dukes has somehow risen even higher on her thighs. She insisted on changing when we got back to her place. If it wasn’t for the air-conditioning, this summer heat would’ve already taken both of us out.
She keeps most of her attention on the vegetation outside, beams of sunlight casting shadows across her face and over the defined dip of her strawberry-stained lips.
Focus on the road, dude!
The drone of the radio makes for a distracting backing track in the cramped car, but it’s so quiet that all I can hear is the heaviness of my exhales, the unending racing of my heart, and the shuffling of Faye’s denim on my leather seat.
I let the silence stretch between us for a few miles, more than content withnotmaking any small talk, but she pushes me out of the comfort of my nest like I’m a baby bird with its wings still glued to the side of its body.
“So, what do you guys usually do during off-season?” she asks, and I’m not sure if it’s my imagination or the beating sun, but I swear I see her eyes sparkle.
My nerves break out into acrobatics, my fingers gripping the steering wheel at a rather aggressive ten and two. “I wish I could say we just sit around and play video games, but we’re working out most of the time. Some of the guys golf, some of them swim. Anything that’ll keep us in shape for the upcoming season.”
Faye chuckles, and it sounds like the crunch of gravel under foot. “I don’t think you need to do much to stay in shape.”
I nearly gun the gas as embarrassment licks the back of my neck. The lurch of the car doesn’t go unnoticed, and Faye flings out her hands to steel herself, one planted on the passenger door and the other planted on…my arm.
Her touch, even with no romantic intention, makes warmth blossom in my belly. I don’t think that’s a normal reaction to have. That’s like—at least in my eyes—the equivalent of blowing your load just from a girl giving you some over-the-clothes action. I can’t be a one pump chump.
I school my expression to the best of my ability, but that doesn’t stop a distressed noise from escaping me. Like a sad, not fully formed, very unmanly squeak.
Faye immediately removes her hand. “Sorry.”
My chest broadens as I load my lungs with oxygen. “No, no. You’re fine. Sorry for the turbulence.”
A coquettish smile teases her lips. “I thought turbulence was more of an air thing.”
“Considering you’re the one with an Ivy League education, you’re probably right.”
“Hey, don’t sell yourself short. UMich is a top-ranked university.”
My brows swoop together. “How did you know I went to UMich?” I ask, and those restless butterflies start to stir again. The only plausible explanation is that she stalked me on the internet.
She stiffens as her fingers, yet again, swirl around her necklace, rubbing the tiny amethyst like it’ll stomp out whatever unwanted feeling she’s warring with. “Oh, Hayes told me.”
“Hayes. Right.”
“Do you and your brother usually talk about me?” My voice has a teasing timbre, one that nudges her mouth into a perfectO.
Faye ducks her head away from me, that blush of hers coming back in full force. She needs to stop being so beautiful. God, this woman is like an itch I need to satisfy, a scratch that I can feel in the marrow of my bones. She’s unshakable.
“Of course not!” she refutes, sticking her tongue out. “It’s not like you’re the center of every conversation I have with my brother.”
