Are all men this confusing or is it just Halston whatever-his-last-name-is?
I don't have a lot of experience with guys. I had a steady boyfriend through most of high school, a hook up or two senior year after that ended—my way of lashing out after that betrayal—and a few more after moving here to Greensville, but for the most part my romantic involvement with the other sex is limited, at least on a mental and emotional level.
Halston can be so infuriating, so hot and cold—well, so lukewarm and cold. He ignored me for the better part of two days, stared into my soul when I performed, then went back to ignoring me, then told me goodnight when we went our separate ways?
It it wasn't just that he said goodnight, though those two words were, admittedly, baffling in itself. But it was the way he said it. His voice was so low, so soft and sincere, laced with what I could've swore was longing.
And that's exactly what doesn't make any sense. I spent the better part of last night tossing and turning in bed trying to make sense of that.
I failed, eventually fell asleep, and when I woke up this morning I still didn't have any answers.
It's aggravating.
My laptop is open where it rests on the counter. I sit in front of it on a barstool, cup of coffee in one hand, the fingers of the other lazily tapping against the Formica countertop. I have an assignment I should be working on. But I can't focus because, for whatever reason, I can't get frustrating, infuriating, sexy-as-hell Halston out of my head.
My phone pings and I glance down at where it sits beside my computer.
"Speak of the devil," I mumble under my breath, trying to pretend like a pack of butterflies didn't just invade my gut.
Halston: You home?
Me: Where else would I be?
The response is slightly snarky, and I meant it that way. Three bubbles pop up, showing a response is imminent, but they disappear, and my brow furrows.
A knock at my door sounds only a few seconds later, and as I shuffle to answer it I already have a feeling who I'm going to meet.
I pull the door open and there's Halston, wearing a tight pair of dark wash jeans, a Korn t-shirt, and a pair of black high-tops. I swallow hard as my eyes find their way to his clean-shaven face, and those damn butterflies seem to be multiplying by the second.
"I need your car keys," he states, shoving his hands in his front pockets.
I tilt my head to the side and wrinkle my brow. "For what?"
"Just give them to me." He's agitated, I can tell by his tone.
"Halston—"
I pause when I see him eyeing my keys where they dangle from a wall hook just inside the door. He reaches across the threshold into my apartment and tries to grab them, but I manage to be quicker and snatch them first, holding them in my closed fist.
"Tell me why." I grumble, my eyes narrowed at him. It's not a question.
"Because I'm having your car towed to a shop to get it fixed."
"You're what?!" I exclaim, my voice louder than necessary.
"You heard me." He crosses his arms over his chest. I'm momentarily distracted by his bulging biceps but I push that from my mind. For now.
"Um, no you're not, Halston," I reply, my voice softer this time but laced with displeasure.
"Too late. The guy's already here—"
"What?!" I squeal, interrupting him.
"He's down there waiting with his truck, so if I could please get your keys so he can get going." He huffs out a breath and shifts his weight from his right foot to his left. His right hand is extended toward me, his palm open, and I look between it and his face as I feel my body begin to heat from head to toe.
"I told you before, Halston, I don't need a handout!" I'm angry now, my face red, my fist clenched so tight around my keys that they are digging into my skin. "You can't just—"
"It's not a fucking handout! Jesus, Ryah!" He hollers back, startling me. My voice pales in comparison to his, and I press my lips together. I can feel my eyes widening at the intensity of his voice. "I know a guy who owns a shop here in town. He owed me a favor so I cashed in on it. He's not going to charge for the tow or the labor, just parts, and he'll set you up on a payment plan to take care of the balance. It's not a big deal."
I scoff. "Why?"
"What do you mean why? Your car needs fixed. It's been almost a week. I have the means to help so I am. That's it."
He's so nonchalant about it. And he seems to be full of words today.
"If you don't want to give me rides anymore, all you have to do is say so. I can find another way around," I mutter. I'm stretching here, putting words in his mouth and letting my emotions get to me. But right now I'm feeling so many emotions, and it's overwhelming. I don't know how to react.
"That's not—" he pauses, rubbing at the back of his neck. His eyes find mine and they lock on to them, just like they did last night. And I feel it again, some kind of force or something between us. The way his eyes widen and his Adam's apple bobs as he swallows makes me think he feels it too. "That's not what this is about, Ryah. I don't mind giving you rides. I'd give you rides for the rest of the semester if you needed me to. I'm just trying to help."
I'd give you rides for the rest of the semester if you needed me to. That sentence plays on loop on my mind, that statement making his silence last night even more disconcerting. But now isn't the right time to question it. I don't think I could if I even wanted to. I'm at a loss for words.
Instead I open my palm and hold the keys out to him. He grabs them and smirks, it's forced and bleak but still there, and with a nod he heads down the hall to the stairs, leaving me standing in the doorway even more perplexed than I was before.
