Headlights

03 Him

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

"Good. I like the color scheme."

"Thank you."

There was a lull in their conversation as he stared down at his hands and she self-consciously fiddled with the buttons on her phone. Then he stood up abruptly and held up his keys in his hand. "Come on, we've got appointments to keep. Do you need me to wait for you to get anything?"

She dropped the package of instant coffee on the countertop. Pulling at the bottom of her shirt, she said, "You can go wait in your car; I'll be right along." When he was out of earshot, she muttered, "You hypocrite, you. Keeping appointments, my ass." Nevertheless, she hurried to her closet, grabbed an overcoat and her house key, and joined him outside.

He had a ridiculously fancy car. As she opened the passenger door of the unlocked car, she vaguely wondered how much money he had handed over to own this gem of a convertible. He had already revved the engine, and as soon as she closed the door and before she put on her seat belt, he pulled out of her short driveway smoothly.

"You rebel," she said.

He glanced up from the steering wheel with a wicked glint in his eye. "But you love it."

And even though it was so cheesy, she felt herself melt. What in the world? She was much too old to fall for a couple of pretty words like a teenager. But maybe it wasn't her. It was him. He was all over her thoughts already, and she saw his green eyes everywhere as if he was following her. And there he was, casually flirting with her like it was nothing.

They drove on for a while comfortably. She stared out the window at all the flashing lights, the derelict buildings, and the mist over the bridge. For a second, he turned on the radio, which was blasting some mindless pop music. As soon as he caught her glance, he turned it off, but not without a smirk. "Irritable today, aren't you?"

"Be quiet." But then, after a pause, she continued, "Why do you have a car?"

"What do you mean?" And oh her heart, he looked so relaxed as he fiddled with the dials on his car, like something out of an old '50's film—Guys and Dolls, perhaps. How did he do that? He didn't even have to look at her, and there she was, on her knees for him.

"You live in New York City. Why in the world would you have a car in New York City?"

He shrugged. "Why don't you have a car? You live in New Jersey."

"Unlike you, I appreciate the value of buses and subways." She rolled her eyes at him.

He leaned her head toward her, raising his eyebrows as if he was holding up a glass to her. "True."

She swallowed. He still kept eye contact, and vaguely, in the back of her mind, she wondered how he could keep driving like that. She took a breath. "What?"

He straightened in his seat and turned his attention back onto the road. "Nothing."

She bit her lip and stared down at her hands. In the light of the street lamps whizzing by, they looked much too pale, like the rest of her. She played with the buttons on her coat idly, pulling and picking at them as if they were loose threads on an old t-shirt. She liked this—being with him without any music or noise or distraction between them. Maybe it was something beyond his pretty face, but she couldn't know now. Not yet.

Finally, he pulled to a stop. She looked up. They were in front of a parking garage that was part of a sleek, modern white building in one of the more upscale neighborhoods of the city. "This is it," he said, glancing over to her.