Pulse

Chapter 40

Lucie

When Cian came strolling through my high school's courtyard like he owned the place, I was seated on the front steps in a huff, my foot tapping impatiently against the concrete. There was a slight buckle to Cian's shoulders, a tiny irregularity you had to be looking for to see. As usual, the hood of his heather gray pullover was up over his head, the rips in his black jeans exposing his reddened knees. There was a rather strange smile on his face as he approached, placing one foot on the step beside me and squinting down in my direction.

He flipped his hood back to run a hand through his hair, regarding me with a gleam in his eye I couldn't read. "Good morning, muffin."

I rolled my eyes. "What part of after school do you not understand? If this about seeing Eden—"

"I said nothing about Eden," Cian replied, extending his hand to me. I folded my own into his, and he hoisted me up. "I said I was coming to see you."

"In the middle of class."

The look he lent me told me he saw nothing wrong with that. I decided there was no point in arguing.

"Well," I said, my fingers still entwined in his. We started away from the school, my backpack tossed over my shoulder. "I got an excuse from the nurse, so I potentially have strep throat and am going home. Not like I'm wasting time with my boyfriend, or anything."

Cian's eyes darted to me. He blinked for a second, as if my sentence confused him, and then he said, "You called me your boyfriend."

I gave him a quizzical look. "So?"

"You've never done that before."

We had reached his silver-white Escalade, shimmering underneath the sun in all its expensive glory. I liked his car, not because it was nicer than my Subaru, but rather because it reminded me of him. It looked like it was all money and beauty, but in reality there was more the deeper you dug. It beeped twice as Cian unlocked it, his thumb swiftly pressing the button.

I sighed and leaned my head against his chest, listened to his heartbeat. "That's what we are now, isn't it?"

He pecked my forehead gently. His lips left a cold spot on my skin. "We are if that's what you want to be. Now get in the car, girlfriend," he said, as if trying out the word on his tongue. "We're going to your place."

"My place?"

"Are your parents going to be home?"

"No," I answered.

"Then, yeah, your place," Cian said, and when he saw the skeptical look on my face, asked, "What?"

"What are you planning?"

His smile was sharp, scar at his lips stretched clean. "To get away, Lucie. That's what I'm planning."

I eyed him as he opened the passenger's side door, motioning for me to enter. "You coming or not?" he prompted, and of course I was, so I slid in and he shoved the door shut after me.

The interior of the car hadn't changed since I'd last ridden in it—champagne leather seats, pine air freshener dangling from the rearview mirror, a complex touchscreen audio and GPS system installed above the console. No, it wasn't the car that had changed, but it was I who had changed. I noticed things I didn't before, like the pair of cheap shades on the dash (Cian's) or the old grocery list scribbled in blue ink pen (also Cian's) and the nutty and sweet scent that covered up the air freshener (definitely Cian's). These were the things that made the car more than a car. These were the things that made the car his.