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"SHOULD WE GO to my place, or do you want me to take you home?" Takoda asked with a glance in my direction after we were already on the 101. The first two words of his question were drowned out by the music, something by Alexander Stewart, before he turned it down until it was barely audible.
"You said you wanted us to talk," was what I offered in place of a response. He didn't say anything, gently pushing a few locks of hair off his face instead, and after a moment too long in silence, I expanded, "We can't talk at mine."
My feet were hot in my suede boots, the backs of my thighs stuck to the passenger seat through my black leather skirt—though that part was probably on me for thinking it was okay to be in leather in this heat—and I could feel sweat forming beneath my arms even though my top was thin-strapped. Even though the AC was blasting.
"You hungry?" he asked again.
"Not really."
"Why do I feel like there's something you want to say to me?"
I smiled. I actually smiled, and he did a double take when he noticed. "You deserve yet another Grammy award for that one."
"What is it?"
I let my amusement drop. "Are we just gonna pretend your ex-girlfriend wasn't there to surprise you? Or that you looked happy to see her, and vice versa?"
"I was happy to see her. I haven't seen her at all this year."
A little outraged at how casual his response was, I turned to face him in the seat, folding one leg beneath my body. "Takoda."
"What do you want from me, Cleo?"
"What do I want from you?"
"Why exactly are we talking about this?"
"She told me you two have been talking."
"So?"
My lips parted to provide a follow-up to his question, but the words I'd mentally prepared got lost on their way out, and I could feel my eyebrows drawing closer to the middle of my forehead. "Am I the only one you weren't speaking to, Takoda?" I asked instead, my voice quieter than I intended.
He took a moment to respond, the veins in his free hand popping as he grabbed the steering wheel. "No."
"Well, did any of the other people you weren't talking to call and text you about fifty times a day?"
"Cleo—"
"No, I'm not gonna sit here and pretend like that doesn't suck, okay?" Strangely, I got emotional after saying those words out loud, and it was only then that I realized what exactly I said and what exactly it meant.
"We've talked about this—"
"Did I really mean anything to you?"
He placed a hand against his forehead and muttered something I didn't quite catch. I knew it was a swear word, though. "Do you care or do you not?"
