“Will you come somewhere with metomorrow?”
“Of course. Where?”
“To see my mom.”
I pick my head up and look at him,“Really?”
Ryan nods with big, blue, insecure eyes.
I kiss him on the mouth lightly, then standup and start walking towards the bedroom.
“Where are you going?” he asks.
“I have to go figure out what to wear.”
“Now?”
“Yes, now. It’s the first time I’m meetingyour mother, it may take me all night to pick out an outfit.”
Ryan laughs, “Women.”
“This shouldn’t surprise you. You’re anexpert on women.”
“I’m an expert on one woman,” he corrects ashe gets up to follow me, “and even she still surprises mesometimes.”
“I have to keep you on your toes. I have alot of competition.”
“Alana,” he says engagingly, grabbing my arm,“you are the competition.”
“Smooth talker,” I jibe.
“Smooth enough to get a private fashionshow?” he asks temptingly.
“Maybe,” I tease. “You might have to pull afew more lines out of your hat though.”
“Baby,” Ryan slides his hands seductivelyaround my waist, “for you, I’ll pull lines, I’ll pull game, I’llpull rabbits right out of my hat.”
Ryan and I drive downParkway South, away from the city and towards the Jersey Shore. Weboth grew up minutes from the ocean, me in an elite community, himon the wrong side of the tracks. I don’t know much about Ryan’smother, just that he calls her a functioning alcoholic. A personwho gets wasted all the time but still manages to hold down a joband keep a roof over her family’s head. He says that’s about allshe manages to do. From a very young age Ryan was the one whocooked (if there was any food) and cleaned and kept his familytogether. He was the anchor and the punching bag when she got outof control. It breaks my heart thinking about the shitty upbringinghe had and how desperate he is to have a future different from hispast. And how desperate I am to make sure that happens. I’m sittingin the front seat of his Mercedes CLK350, OneRepublic’sCountingStarsis playing on the radio. I’m perfectly composed on theoutside and clawing the walls on the inside. I don’t know what toexpect, I want to make a good first impression and I want her tolike me. Actually, I’m dying for her to like me. I don’t know why,but this is more nerve-wracking than taking the LSATs.
“You know what I miss?” I ask Ryan, hopingconversation will distract me.
“What’s that?” he asks as we pass exit117.
“Your Wrangler.” It’s the car Ryan drove thesummer we met.
“Oh yeah?” One side of his mouth curves up,“We had a lot of fun in that car. Miss your hair blowing in thewind?”
I stare at Ryan, trying to contain mylaughter, “Do you?”
“Fuck, yeah.” Ryan is absolutely beaming andI know exactly what he’s grinning at, a very illicit memory. “Maybewe can make this car just as much fun as the Jeep?” heinsinuates.
“Maybe,” I tease, running my hand up hisleg.
“Did I tell you how much I love you today?”he asks, as he glances heatedly between me and the road.
“Nope.”
“Well, I do. A lot,” he expels, making megiggle as I pull my hand away.