Born Wicked

XXI

The sun goes down and the rain starts to pour and we sit in a red vinyl booth in a diner in front of a picture window like a sad tableau of bad date. My rapier wit isn't enough to shake his cold shoulder, so in the end we sit in mostly silence. The stretches longer and longer between.

"I'll take you home," he says politely. Oozing charm. Not. I nod and he adds, "I'd still like to teach you some things tomorrow after practice, if you still want me to."

"Okay," I reply. That's it. I've got nothing. Like I said, I don't know how to fix it, so I've accepted that the moment is just gone. I shrug into my coat as he tosses money on the table for our food plus tip. Verna will be happy, he's a generous tipper it would seem. He gave her ten bucks.

"When do you want your tattoo?" he asks.

Oh. "Um," I hesitate. "I'm not sure. Whenever I guess."

He nods curtly. "How about this weekend?"

I offer him a weak, watery smile. In some circles, they'd call it a grimace. "Sure, Ethan. I'm free all weekend, so text me?"

He smirks his smirk. "Will you have it charged?" he asks, his tone mildly sarcastic.

I roll my eyes. "Yes. Don't be a jerk about it."

He chuckles, the first real sign of humor in over an hour. "Okay, Jayme-Lynn. Point taken."

We dash out of the diner and run to his car. He's quiet as he drives and I watch his rigid profile, his face there and gone, there and gone, there and gone in the orange glow of the street lights.

The drive back to my house is quick and when he pulls in the driveway, I'm nervous. It was a date. Right? Not a good one, if movies and television are anything to go by, I shake my head. I don't need references to know it was bad. But was it awful? Maybe. Will he kiss me? I hope so. I mean, I want him to, but then I'm not sure of myself at this point.

I have my hand on the door handle and I'm about to offer a goodbye that will be awful and awkward when he leans over the gear shift and gently cups my cheek with one hand. With the other, he brushes my temple and traces a finger down my cheek to my jaw. I'm not breathing.

This. This is what I've been hoping for. He tilts my chin and kisses me softly on my lips. It's disappointing. Don't get me wrong, his mouth is perfect and he's beautiful and he's masculine and he's everything I'm not. Popular. Experienced. Honest.

"I like you," he says softly.

I smile sadly. "I like you too," I reply, placing my hands on top of his where he holds my face.

He grins and places another of the gentlest of kisses on my lips. I feel my breath hitch. It's perfect. Remember me...

The plea, brushing through my mind like a whisper, startles me. Whether Ethan remembers our very first day together or not, he's here. He likes me. He's kissing me. It's not the same, but it's still sweet and like nothing I've ever experienced.

I don't know what threads lead to what thoughts, words, or actions, but if we're woven together by our choices, then Mr. Cross taking away those early details would surly change the fabric of our experience, wouldn't it? It seems logical. Though, I don't know if I like logical.

"Good night, Jayme-Lynn," he says with a smile.

"Good night," I whisper back. The rain is getting heavier, beating down on the street and his gleaming car in the driveway. I shove the door open and dash out of the car and up onto the porch as fast as I can. The rain feels glorious, but I'm exhausted. I don't want to play tonight. The engine roars to life, all that 1970's muscle, and he pulls out onto the street. I watch him drive away, wrapping my arms around my stomach.