reflex, but then pulled it away.
“It’s okay.” It wasn’t, quite, but I wasn’t going to make him feel worse than he obviously already did.
He walked me back to the parking garage in increasingly uncomfortable silence. By the time we got to my car he wasn’t visibly angry any longer, but that didn’t really help. I unlocked Betty’s door and turned to him.
“Well, Jack, it’s been interesting.”
He ran his hand through his hair. “I hope…you had fun.”
Three hundred bucks’ worth? Not so much. “Sure,” I said anyway, because there was no point in being a bitch.
Jack straightened a little at that. “You didn’t have fun.”
“No, no—”
“Grace,” he said. “I know you didn’t. I’m really sorry. Shit. I’m oh-for-two, huh?”
I leaned against my car to watch him. Again his hand drifted to his pocket and pulled away. I thought of the huff-breath-hold. “If you need to smoke, you can go ahead. I don’t care.”
Not now, when I knew there was no way I’d have to taste smoke on his tongue.
His look of relief was so vast I laughed. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit one with a lighter emblazoned with a picture of the biohazard symbol. He offered me one, which I declined.
We stood a few feet apart, me still leaning against my car and him leaning against the one parked next to it. He blew the smoke away from my face and visibly stopped twitching. We didn’t say anything until he’d puffed a few times. Then he looked at me.
“Sweet car.” His eyes roamed over Betty’s lines, seeing her as she should be, maybe, instead of how she was.
“It’s my bitchin’ Camaro,” I told him with a grin.
Guys dig cars almost as much as they dig pussy.
“Nice.”
It wasn’t, really—it had rust spots and dings and dents and was saved from being a junker solely because of its “cool” factor rather than any extra-special care I’d given it.
“It runs.” I opened the door. “That’s the best thing that I can say about it.”
Jack drew in more smoke and let it out. “She wasn’t my girlfriend. We hooked up once or twice.”
“You don’t have to explain things to me.”
He shook his head. “Yeah, I know. But I am, okay?”
In the parking garage’s harsh lighting he shouldn’t have looked so pretty, his face all smooth lines and curves. With a cigarette in his mouth and smoke squinting his eyes, he should’ve looked harder. Or at least older.
“Look,” he said when I didn’t answer. “I’ll give you your money back.”
“Mrs. Smith doesn’t offer refunds.”
“I know.” He finished the cigarette and dropped it to the floor to grind it out beneath the toe of his black boot. “But this date really sucked, and I’m sorry.”
“It wasn’t all that bad. You’re a good dancer.”
His mouth tipped up a tiny bit. “Thanks. So are you. But that business with Kira…shit.
That was fucked. I’m sorry.”
“You can’t help it she’s a stupid cunt,” I told him, and Jack looked shocked for one second before he burst into laughter.
“Can I give you some advice?” I asked, watching him laugh.
He nodded. “Sure.”
“Do you plan on doing this a lot?”
He didn’t ask me what I meant by “this.” “Um…well, yeah.”
“And you want to be good at it, right?”
“Yes. For sure.”
I studied him another moment. “First of all, don’t make appointments where you can’t smoke.”
Surprise swirled around his mouth and eyes. “No?”
“No. Watching you suck on that butt was like watching a baby going for its bottle.”
He laughed, chagrined. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. Just don’t make dates where you’re going to feel like you can’t be yourself. Because I have to tell you, Jack, that’s what’s going to work for you. Not trying to be someone else.”
He nodded, slowly, and gave me an assessing glance. “I sucked that bad, huh?”
“No. Not really. But…” I thought of how to get my point across. “Okay, think of it
“It’s okay.” It wasn’t, quite, but I wasn’t going to make him feel worse than he obviously already did.
He walked me back to the parking garage in increasingly uncomfortable silence. By the time we got to my car he wasn’t visibly angry any longer, but that didn’t really help. I unlocked Betty’s door and turned to him.
“Well, Jack, it’s been interesting.”
He ran his hand through his hair. “I hope…you had fun.”
Three hundred bucks’ worth? Not so much. “Sure,” I said anyway, because there was no point in being a bitch.
Jack straightened a little at that. “You didn’t have fun.”
“No, no—”
“Grace,” he said. “I know you didn’t. I’m really sorry. Shit. I’m oh-for-two, huh?”
I leaned against my car to watch him. Again his hand drifted to his pocket and pulled away. I thought of the huff-breath-hold. “If you need to smoke, you can go ahead. I don’t care.”
Not now, when I knew there was no way I’d have to taste smoke on his tongue.
His look of relief was so vast I laughed. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit one with a lighter emblazoned with a picture of the biohazard symbol. He offered me one, which I declined.
We stood a few feet apart, me still leaning against my car and him leaning against the one parked next to it. He blew the smoke away from my face and visibly stopped twitching. We didn’t say anything until he’d puffed a few times. Then he looked at me.
“Sweet car.” His eyes roamed over Betty’s lines, seeing her as she should be, maybe, instead of how she was.
“It’s my bitchin’ Camaro,” I told him with a grin.
Guys dig cars almost as much as they dig pussy.
“Nice.”
It wasn’t, really—it had rust spots and dings and dents and was saved from being a junker solely because of its “cool” factor rather than any extra-special care I’d given it.
“It runs.” I opened the door. “That’s the best thing that I can say about it.”
Jack drew in more smoke and let it out. “She wasn’t my girlfriend. We hooked up once or twice.”
“You don’t have to explain things to me.”
He shook his head. “Yeah, I know. But I am, okay?”
In the parking garage’s harsh lighting he shouldn’t have looked so pretty, his face all smooth lines and curves. With a cigarette in his mouth and smoke squinting his eyes, he should’ve looked harder. Or at least older.
“Look,” he said when I didn’t answer. “I’ll give you your money back.”
“Mrs. Smith doesn’t offer refunds.”
“I know.” He finished the cigarette and dropped it to the floor to grind it out beneath the toe of his black boot. “But this date really sucked, and I’m sorry.”
“It wasn’t all that bad. You’re a good dancer.”
His mouth tipped up a tiny bit. “Thanks. So are you. But that business with Kira…shit.
That was fucked. I’m sorry.”
“You can’t help it she’s a stupid cunt,” I told him, and Jack looked shocked for one second before he burst into laughter.
“Can I give you some advice?” I asked, watching him laugh.
He nodded. “Sure.”
“Do you plan on doing this a lot?”
He didn’t ask me what I meant by “this.” “Um…well, yeah.”
“And you want to be good at it, right?”
“Yes. For sure.”
I studied him another moment. “First of all, don’t make appointments where you can’t smoke.”
Surprise swirled around his mouth and eyes. “No?”
“No. Watching you suck on that butt was like watching a baby going for its bottle.”
He laughed, chagrined. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. Just don’t make dates where you’re going to feel like you can’t be yourself. Because I have to tell you, Jack, that’s what’s going to work for you. Not trying to be someone else.”
He nodded, slowly, and gave me an assessing glance. “I sucked that bad, huh?”
“No. Not really. But…” I thought of how to get my point across. “Okay, think of it
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