The seat takes me like it was measured for someone and decided I’d do. The door comes down with a sound like a vault sealing, that engineered thunk that costs more than tuition, and the alley disappears behind tinted glass: Rose’s grin, Garret’s laugh finally escaping, Azriel watching the car with an expression I file away to think about later.
Saint gets in. The engine breathes.
Inside, it’s all dark leather and carbon fiber and his citrus scent. The quiet is smothered by the sound of the powerful engine.
I hold my breath, that makes my ears pulse.
He doesn’t drive off yet.
His hand sits on the steering wheel. The streetlight cuts a line across his knuckles.
“Four days you haven’t cared if I made it home. Why now?” I ask, eyes forward, voice level. “Don’t you have a party to plan for?”
The pause has weight.
“I know,” he says again. Lower this time. “But I want to talk.”
“Talk,” I repeat.
“I will in a minute. Put your seat belt on so I can drive.”
I do as he asks. The SVJ pulls out of the alley with a growl that sets off a car alarms two streets over.
He drives like he fucks—with purpose.
After two minutes, I realize he has no intention of taking me to my dorm as he passes by the building. I should protest and tell him to take me back, but I don’t because the truth is, I feel safe with him for some reason. If he wanted to hurt me, he would have already. I’m not sure what angle he is playing at, but I have no choice but to find out.
The silence continues to stretch between us.
I’m tempted to play something on the radio but don’t want to touch his car.
Instead, I look out the tinted glass window, and when the pressure builds and I can’t take it anymore, I blurt, “What do you want?”
“I already told you. To talk.”
“What do you have to tell me that you couldn’t in person or through a simple text? I mean, it’s not that serious. There is nothing between us, and nothing you could possibly want from me that you can’t get anywhere else.”
He glances at me briefly. “You’re talking about sex.”
I snort. “What else could it be? Of course I’m talking about sex. You got what you wanted.”
He chuckles darkly. “And you think that is all I wanted? You honestly think that I was lying to you when I said I was going to fuck you.”
“I’m sure Monica wouldn’t mind, and that is not because I’m jealous or anything,” I lie, finally admitting to myself that it bothers me.
I hated the thought of him with her. Or with someone else. The thought that he invited her and not me. That he still wants her around.
“Are you?”
I look at him. “Am I what?” I play dumb.
He switches gears. “Are you jealous, Amy?”
“Jealous of what?”
“Of me fucking someone else?”
I clench my teeth because I would die before I admit I’m jealous.