Carpool

by Noelle Adams

  I stare at him, my eyes blurring slightly. I can’t imagine he’s telling me the truth, but he doesn’t have his teasing smile on his face, so it looks like he is. “I’m... I’m not... that.”

  “Maybe not for real, but that’s the impression you give to the world. If guys think they’re going to get rejected, then they’re never going to make a move.”

  I’m half-baffled and half-pleased by what he’s told me.

  And stupidly the thing that’s made the biggest impression on me is that he said I’m “so pretty.”

  I had no idea he thought I was pretty.

  I can’t help but like that he does.

  I haven’t yet figured out how to respond when he’s turning in to my grandmother’s driveway. He stops at the end near the door and puts the pickup in park.

  I look at him, confused and flustered and nervous and excited.

  For no good reason at all.

  He chuckles and lifts a hand to brush a strand of hair back from my face. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m just telling you what I know. It’s not that guys aren’t interested. It’s that they’re terrified of making a move.”

  “Well... I don’t... I can’t do anything about that. I want a guy who’s brave enough to try.”

  We stare at each other for a moment. Streams of bright light from the lowering sun are hitting his hair, making the brown look almost bronze. I can see the bristles on his jaw. The ruffled hairs of his eyebrows. The silvery blue of his eyes.

  For a moment I’m hit with some sort of mad fancy because I’m absolutely convinced he’s going to kiss me.

  He doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t.

  It never even crosses his mind.

  He smirks at me instead. “Well, have a good weekend and date. But I wouldn’t expect too much from it if he’s not even willing to make the drive out here.”

  “Oh shut up,” I grumble as I get out of the car. I’m embarrassed by my own stupidity, but at least Marcus doesn’t know about it.

  Right now I just want to get away from him.

  He laughs, and I’m about to give him the cold shoulder he deserves when I remember something.

  I turn around and lean back into the truck. “Thanks for the ride.”

  His smile softens just slightly. “You’re welcome.”

  I close the door and head into my house, trying to focus on my upcoming date tomorrow and not on the obnoxious (and far too sexy) man who’s just dropped me off.

  I wonder if he’s ever liked a girl enough to drive forty-five minutes to pick her up for a date.

  I wonder if he’s ever liked a girl enough to ask her out even if she was (unintentionally) intimidating.

  I wonder what he really thinks of me.

  Then I push all those questions from my mind because I’m not likely to ever learn the answers.

  Three

  ON MONDAY, I HAVE LUNCH in the dining hall with Beck, and she quizzes me on my date. The college has big plans to remodel the student center and dining hall—updating it into the more popular food-court style—but they haven’t gotten the funding together yet, so it’s still an old-fashioned cafeteria.

  I don’t mind. I’ve been here long enough that I know what’s good and what’s not. Today I’ve got a salad and a bowl of chili, and Beck has a club sandwich and a piece of cherry pie.

  We grab our favorite table in a far corner away from most of the students, and I tell her about my dinner and movie with George Franks.

  She listens wide-eyed and asks pertinent questions, and when I conclude, she says, “Well, I can’t really tell whether he’s into you or not.”

  “That’s because I don’t know myself. I mean, the kiss when we said goodbye was fine, but it wasn’t anything special. I don’t know whether he’s just going through the motions or if he really likes me.”

  “Did he say anything about another date?”

  “He said something like, let’s do this again. But he didn’t nail down a specific date.”

  Beck’s full, rosy lips turn down into a frown. She chews her sandwich thoughtfully. “I don’t know. That doesn’t sound promising to me.”

  “That’s what I thought too.” I shrug and lean back in my chair, lowering my voice because a couple of psychology professors have just sat down at a table nearby. “It’s not like I’m expecting any sort of commitment at this point, but it would be nice to have some sense of what he’s thinking.”

  “Guys are always like that. I think they do it on purpose. Keep things totally open so there’s no pressure or expectations. They’re always doing that to me, and I just write them off when it happens.”

  “But you date all the time. I almost never date. I don’t want to throw out a decent guy with some potential if there’s not a good reason.”

  “This might be a good reason. If the guy isn’t making a real effort, in my experience it’s not worth investing in.”

  I make a face. “Now you sound like Marcus.”

  “What about Marcus?” Beck leans forward, a little smile on the corners of her mouth.

  I give her my impatient look. “Don’t you start. It’s nothing important. Just that he said it’s a red flag that George won’t drive all the way out to Sterling to pick me up for a date.”

  “He might have a point.”

  “Oh my God! Not you too! If we were serious, it would be one thing, but how many guys would drive all that way for a casual date?”

  “I don’t know. Not many. But do you really want a guy who takes you so casually?”

  I’m feeling blah and discouraged now, and I’m sure my expression reflects it. “But how am I supposed to get from casual to serious if I’m not willing to go through the early dating annoyances?”

  “Don’t ask me. I’ve had dates with three different guys this month, and all of them were flops.”

  Beck does a number of dating apps, so she has a much more active social life than me. She has the benefit of living in Milford—which is quite a bit larger than Sterling and within a half hour of a city of almost 100,000. If I tried any of the dating apps, I’d have to be willing to drive at least an hour just to meet an eligible guy. It’s never seemed worth it to me, especially after hearing all of Beck’s wild experiences.

  “So,” she says in a different tone, “you’re talking to Marcus about your dating life now?”

  I groan. “I asked you please not to start this.”

  “Start what?”

  “You know what. You’ve got the worst poker face in the history of the world, and I know exactly what you’re thinking. You’re getting all curious and excited about Marcus, and I can tell you once and for all that there’s absolutely no reason for it.”

  “It sounds like you’re getting along better now.”

  “We are. Of course we are. It’s been two weeks of riding together. If you’re with someone an hour and a half a day, you either have to get along or be miserable. But there’s nothing more than that.”

  “Well, he is pretty hot.”

  “Of course he’s hot!” I say that too loudly, and the psychology professors glance over. I lower my voice to a murmur as I continue, “Being hot has nothing to do with it. I’m the last person he’d ever be interested in that way. He still treats me like his little neighbor who is only good to laugh at.”

  By some malicious fate, Marcus appears in the dining hall just then. He’s got a take-out container in his hand filled with what looks like a burger and fries, and he’s grabbing a ridiculous number of ketchup packets to put in it.

  He’s wearing khakis and a French blue Oxford today, and it would be a perfectly fine outfit if his shirt wasn’t wrinkled and half-untucked. He definitely didn’t shave this morning.

  Beck turns around in her chair and blatantly stares in the direction I’ve been focused on. “He is hot,” she murmurs. “Those eyes are enough to melt you into a puddle of goo.”

  “If you think he’s so hot, you go after him. He said he liked you.”

  “No w
ay.” She slants me a mischievous look. “Whether you want him or not, he’s yours. What kind of friend would I be if I went after a guy that you saw first?”

  “That’s silly, Beck. I’m telling you that I don’t want him. So if you want—”

  “Stop it! I don’t want him. I just think he’s hot in an entirely objective way. And even if I was interested, I’d never go after him. We’re friends, and he’s off-limits.” She meets my eyes. “We both know what that means.”

  My defensiveness relaxes in the face of her obvious sincerity. She’s absolutely right. I would feel weird and awkward and reluctant if she started dating Marcus. I don’t have to be into a man to feel like he’s more mine than hers. “Okay,” I say. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.” She swivels around so she can peer at Marcus again. “Ooh, he sees you.”

  I try. I really do. But I can’t resist looking over. He’s standing in line at the register with his take-out container, and he’s giving me that cocky half smile.

  I nod and then sigh as I turn back to Beck. “He’s smirking. I told you he thinks about me as a silly little girl.”

  Beck turns again to stare shamelessly. “I wouldn’t call that a smirk. I’d call that a hopeful smile from a guy who’s trying to act cool.”

  “Beck—”

  “Don’t Beck me. I might be seeing this better than you are. I think he likes you more than you think he does.”

  I clench my jaw and glare, but my fierceness has absolutely no effect on Beck. She giggles and tucks into her pie.

  “You know people are starting to talk,” she says after a minute.

  “About what?”

  “About you and Marcus. They think the fact that you’re riding together means there’s something going on.”

  “Oh my God, this campus is like the worst of small towns. I hope you’re telling people there’s nothing.”

  “I’m explaining that it’s car trouble, but they don’t seem to believe me. And the truth is I’m not entirely sure if—”

  I see something out of the corner of my eye that makes me stiffen. “Hush, he’s coming over.”

  Beck’s blue eyes get very big and round as she takes another bite of her pie.

  I try to act casual as I sip my water, and I tilt my head up as Marcus approaches. “You didn’t have to walk all the way over here.” I don’t know why I say such a thing, but I do.

  Up goes the corner of his mouth. “Why wouldn’t I come over to say hi? I’m a nice guy, aren’t I?”

  “I thought we already established that you’re not a nice guy.”

  He chuckles and shifts his container from one hand to the other. “You established that, but I never agreed to such a thing.” He glances over at Beck. “How are you, Dr. Wilson?”

  “I’m just fine, Mr. Greene. You should get a piece of this pie. It’s really good.”

  “Is it? Maybe I’ll go back and get a piece later. The line is too long right now.”

  “Do you eat a burger and fries every day for lunch?” I ask.

  “Not every day. Sometimes I have hot dogs or fried chicken instead.” His sideways look is a definite challenge.

  I’m about to lecture him about eating more healthily, but I see something in Beck’s expression that stops me.

  No need to give her more reason to question my feelings for Marcus.

  Instead, I say coolly, “Well, enjoy your lunch.”

  “I always do.” He gives me another smile and turns to walk away.

  I take a moment to appreciate the view. The man has an ass like no other. Unfortunately, I don’t hide my admiration from Beck.

  She’s grinning when I meet her eyes again.

  “Don’t say it,” I warn her.

  The good thing about Beck is that she always knows my limits. She doesn’t follow up on the teasing. Instead, she asks, “What did Marcus have to say about your date with George?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know. He didn’t ask about it this morning.”

  “Why not? I thought y’all were talking about it on Friday.”

  “We were. But he must have forgotten about it or something because he didn’t ask.”

  “Well, if it comes up, ask him what he thinks. He might be able to give better insight than I can.”

  “Yeah. If it comes up, maybe I will.”

  AT 5:01, I’M TRYING to wrap up a phone call with the father of a student.

  Yes, I get calls from students’ parents. Sometimes I’m not allowed to talk to them, but in this case the student has signed the form that gives her parents access to grades and financial information.

  The father is upset because the student has failed too many classes and lost her scholarship. It’s the most annoying kind of conversation because the rules are perfectly clear but the man just doesn’t want me to follow them.

  I work on keeping my tone patient and try several times to end the conversation, but it’s ten minutes after five when I’m finally able to hang up.

  I groan out loud in my empty office.

  “That sounded terrible.” A familiar voice comes from outside my office.

  Marcus.

  He sticks his head in through my half-open doorway. He must have walked up to my floor when I was late showing up.

  I give him a tired wave. “Sorry about that. I couldn’t get off the phone.”

  “I heard. At least I heard your half of the conversation. Was it really the student’s dad?”

  “Yep. Don’t you get calls from parents?”

  “Not much. Although once a couple of years ago I had a mother call me almost every week with concerns about her son’s allergies.”

  I laugh as I close out my computer and stuff a few things into my big leather purse. I stand and smooth down my skirt. It’s my favorite, a pretty blue floral print that’s fitted through the hips and then flares out at the knees. It makes me feel like I have an old-school bombshell figure.

  Marcus’s eyes run up and down my body, and for a moment I wonder if he’s thinking the same thing. But when he meets my eyes again, his expression is its typical teasing irony. “You ready?”

  “Yep. Thanks for waiting.”

  “You don’t really think I would have driven off without you just because you weren’t ready right at five.”

  “No, I don’t think so, but I still appreciate you waiting without complaint.”

  “I’m not much of a complainer.”

  “No,” I say, thinking about it as I lock my office and step into the hall beside him. “You really aren’t.”

  “One of my few good traits, I guess.”

  “One of the few.” I’m smiling as I say it, so I’m pretty sure he knows I’m not serious.

  I feel strangely happy—and excited—as I walk out of the building with him. When we meet someone coming in the main doors as we’re leaving, Marcus steps behind me to make room and puts a casual hand on the small of my back to guide me through.

  It’s a small gesture. Probably automatic. Thoughtless. But his palm on my back seems to brand me through the thin fabric of my top.

  I really like how it feels there.

  I do my best to brush off the sensation as we reach his truck. It smells familiar—like dirt and his laundered clothes. I feel at home in the passenger seat.

  It’s the most bizarre realization.

  He’s giving me a curious smile as he puts on his seat belt.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Nothing. You just have a strange expression. What are you thinking about?”

  I clear my face, praying he won’t figure out that I was thinking fond thoughts about him. “I wasn’t thinking about anything in particular.”

  “I know that’s not true. You think I don’t know how to read your expression? You were looking kind of sappy, which isn’t normal for you. Did you have a really good date on Saturday night or something?”

  I’m filled with a rush of nerves at the realization that he could read what I was feeling, but fortunately he came
to the wrong conclusion about the source. “I had a fine date on Saturday. Thanks for asking.”

  “Fine doesn’t sound good enough for that expression I just saw.”

  “You misread the expression. The date was fine. Good.”

  “Which was it? Good or fine?”

  I lean my head back against the seat, close my eyes, and groan in resignation. “Damn it, Marcus. You’re impossible. You know that, right?”

  “Yes, I know that. But I still want an answer to my question.”

  “I don’t actually know if the date was good or fine.”

  “Then it must be just fine. You’d know if it was good.”

  “Maybe. But some guys are hard to read, you know.”

  “Not if they’re really into you. Guys are never hard to read about that. Did he kiss you?”

  I’ve really given up now because I don’t even question his right to ask such a question. “Yes, he kissed me. He’s a good kisser.”

  He frowns deeply. “I thought you said it was just fine.”

  “The kiss was good. The date was fine.”

  In truth, I’d label the kiss somewhere between fine and good, but there’s no reason Marcus has to know that.

  “Did he ask you out again?”

  “He said let’s do this again. That I should call him.”

  “He won’t even call himself? That doesn’t sound good.”

  I roll my eyes. “I know that. That’s what I mean about not knowing what to think. He’s full of contradictory signals.”

  “Guys don’t give signals—not nearly as many as girls seem to think. If he’s interested, you’ll know for sure.”

  I make a face at him.

  “I’m serious. I’m not trying to be a downer, but I’m assuming you want a man who’s totally into you.”

  “Yes. That’s what I want.”

  “So don’t settle for less. You could probably call Franks, and he’d keep going out with you because it’s easy and you’re pretty and good company. And maybe if you held out long enough, you’d get to the point of being exclusive. And maybe if you started to pressure him, he’d eventually even propose. But it would all be on you. Do you want a man who wants only you, or do you want a man who’s just along for the ride?”