by Kris Kendall
****
He walked me to the car ten minutes later, our combined footfalls echoing in the muggy twilight. My keys jingled between my numb fingers.
“I want one night with you.” My stomach muscles clenched every time his words looped through my head.
Did he mean sex? I wanted to ask. I should have asked. But it was such a shock. Things like that didn’t happen outside of movies. People didn’t actually use sex as payment, did they? Or was I really that naive?
We stopped next to gram’s car. I couldn’t look at him. The light from the streetlamp glinted off the keys. I watched the spark trace the curve of a T-shaped keychain.
I moistened my lips, my insides in chaos. “When—when did you…?”
“I could pick you up tomorrow,” he said, thankfully not making me finish. “Is that okay?”
No! I wanted to shout. It was not okay. How could he think it was okay? How could he think this was normal? But I’d promised. I promised that I would do whatever he wanted, that I would give anything he wanted. God, how was I supposed to know that he would want that?
“Tomorrow is fine.” My voice hitched. Tears sprung to my eyes.
Damn it!
“Seven?”
I just nodded, turning away, fumbling with the keys, too blinded, too shaken by emotions to find the keyhole. Fear of breaking down right there had me scrambling faster for escape.
“Hey.” His warm fingers closed over my icy ones. “You okay?”
I willed myself to calm down, to block the terror encasing me. “Fine.” I lied, staring transfixed by how easily his hand dwarfed mine. “I just need to get home.”
He didn’t stop me when I snatched my hand back from him. He didn’t speak when I threw myself into the car. He didn’t move when I tore out of there.