and we played

Chapter 21

I hear the barista yell his name so I stand up, snatch my order and walk out of the coffee shop, planning to get rid of him. I'm already in my car starting the engine as the car door to the passenger's seat opens and he sits down.

"Get out of my car", I let out. I'm mentally down. He needs to get out.

"Make me", he says in a challenge.

I curse him with every swear word I can in my head, walk out of the car, open his door and wait for him to get out.

"Get out my car", I begin.

He shakes his head, his mouth twitched as if he's enjoying this. "You're missing a word."

"Get out my fucking car", I try.

He chuckles. "Still not right."

"Get the fuck out of my car", I try again.

"The word is please, just as a hint", he replies. Why the fuck is he smiling?! He never smiles. And why the fuck does it look so good on him?!

"I'm not begging you to get out of my own car", I counter, going over to the driver's seat. I put my seatbelt on and start driving, not minding him there. He got in when he wanted, he'll get out where I want.

"Nice car", he lets out. My mouth twitches. It is a nice car. A great one. Limited edition SUV from APOLLO. I have my city car back home in the garage, but I wanted to take this one out today, knowing I'll be mentally destroyed after Becca's departure and this car makes me happy.

"Thanks", I reply. "Would be prettier without you in it."

"Are you saying I'm not pretty?", he asks.

I look over at him. His brown hair is a bit messy, dark eyes staring at me. He's wearing nothing but a pair of jeans, Balenciaga hoodie and some sneakers. There is a metal ring on his middle finger, a scar on one of his hands.

He doesn't look so bad.

Nice even.

"You're okay", I mumble, forcing my gaze back on the road.

He lets out an amused sigh. "Almost panicked I didn't pass the test there."

"I still want you out of my car", I mumble.

He lets out another chuckle. Two smiles in a day, someone needs to check his condition. "I'm not going anywhere, sweetheart."

So that's how you want to play.

I make it my new plan to torture him, so I drive over to the highway. There, I can unleash my wrath on him.

"Won't your boyfriend notice you're taking me out?", he jokes.

I roll my eyes. "Won't your girlfriend notice?"

"I don't have a girlfriend", he replies cold.

"My mistake. Last time I checked, you had a hickey on your neck", I counter.

"Last time I checked, you volunteered to give me a heart-shaped one."

I press the pedal to stop the car all of a sudden. I know we are on a bridge over the lake, but he needs to get out. "That was it. Thanks for using our car services, but your ride came to an end. Uber your way to hell."

"I have a fast-pass ticket to hell", he replies unbothered.

"Even better. Au revoir."

I point at the door but he won't open it. I know deep down he ain't going anywhere, but there is still room to try.

"Dude, seriously, get the fuck out."

"You still haven't told me why you were crying."

"Because you don't fucking care about me, get out."

He freezes. "Who said I don't care about you?"

"Your actions", I reply, starting the car since people started to honk at me.

"Mya, even if I hated you, that would still mean I had feeling towards you. I do care about you."

Even if I hated you... "So you don't hate me?"

"I never have." He thinks about it. "I hate your boyfriend. But not you."

"You hate him cause he's a Winthrope, everybody knows."

"That's not why I hate him", he hisses.

I roll my eyes, wanting to rub my temples but being a bit busy driving. "Well, that's a shame, cause I hate you. So please get out of my car."

"Why were you crying?", he asks.

"I won't tell you", I mumble.

"Why?", he presses the topic.

"Because you don't care", I shout, since my mental needs checking.

"I thought we already established I do care about you."

"But it's not just about me. You don't care about me or anything. Even if I would tell you, you would find it stupid."

I reach for my coffee since that seems really tempting right now.

"I won't find it stupid."

Tears start rolling down my face again, even thinking of Becca.

"Sweetheart, what's wrong?"

I take a deep breath. And it might be from the fact he bought me coffee or confessed he cares, but I tell him: "Becca's gone."

"Is she dead?", he asks, not really so concerned.

"Fuck you", I reply.

"Alright, I'm sorry", he mutters, voice again cold. "Did she leave us for the sky?"

"You honestly need to get out of this car. Like right now."

"Holiday?", he tries again.

I scoff, banging my head against the wheel. "She moved to Montreal."

"And why were you crying?", he doesn't get the point.

"Because, Ashton, people have feelings. A concept quite foreign to you. And when their best friend leaves, they cry."

He nods, as if processing this. Is he surely not a robot? For there is no way so little soul fits in such a great body.

"Okay, I'm sorry. But I'm sure you'll find new friends", he does his best attempt at a pep talk.

"She was my best friend", I scream.

His eyes look a bit concerned at me after my display of emotions. "Look, I get it. Life sucks. Believe me, I get it. But you're not a broken piece of shit like me. You're good. You make others have unholy thoughts about you, but you're good. Meaning you'll get over this, okay?"

I'm speechless.

"I'll drive you to the city", I let out.

He nods. Neither of us says anything on the way back. But I can feel his gaze on me the entire time.