“Sorry, Dylan,” Thomasin says, wiping off the water under her chin. “But I think I’ll let Kade have his fun, after all.” She slides the glass door shut and walks away, letting out a long breath. “I’ll be fun, too, someday,” she whispers.
Kade never apologized for his comforts. If anyone ever gave him shit about his preppy clothes, corporate coffee, or fitness tracker, he would simply say
“Who should I be instead? You? How much does that pay?”
We were just kids, and I saw you skipping out of the store behind your dad and sucking on your new ring pop, and I knew exactly who you were and who your dad was, but you didn’t know who he was or what he’d done, because you were fucking skipping.
And to my surprise, she steps forward, almost like she’s following orders. But she stops. “Then give me a ride home. On your motorcycle.” The kid doesn’t blink. “Take me home.”
He was beautiful. Always beautiful, always guarded, and I'd always been drawn to him, because he was like a mystery. What was he like when he felt safe enough to open up?
Kade doesn’t care if they’re happy. The more confused he makes women, the more they want him. And if they leave, there are others. He doesn’t sweat about it.
She doesn’t respond, and I try to see if she has earbuds in, but then I hear Kade next to me.
“Get. Down,” he bites out slowly.
And very quietly.
I look over at him, his gaze only slightly turned toward her, but it’s stern.
I glance back at her, and she starts to spin, but then she wobbles. I grab the door handle, and I feel Kade jolt, but then she throws out her arms, twirls, and drops back down to the street next to my car.