I shake my head, clearing my thoughts. Tonight’s plan is a good one.
I watch her pull on her seat belt. She doesn’t belong in a beater car with stained cloth seats and a peeling dash. This is my kind of ride, not hers. If I had a girl like Mai, really had her, I’d want to give her things, do things, be things… I’d have to sign on for the future she sees. I’d have to climb on that hamster wheel and then what? She’s still leaving.
I think of Dad near the end. His jokes when I sat in the room. His quiet sobs when I sat outside. I thought I had time with him. Thought he’d be there. But people leave for all kinds of reasons. Better to be the one doing the leaving. Better not to want too much. Better to live day by day.
Mai is not a day-by-day girl. The problem is that I’m starting to wish she were. I like being with her more than I should. More than I’ve ever liked being with anyone. I told myself it was just chemistry. And yeah, I’m still having very inappropriate thoughts, but I want more than that. I want to talk to her. Laugh with her. I want her to keep taking me places I don’t want to go.
Mai is talking as she gets herself settled. I’m half listening. An apartment mix up. Furniture delivery. Ethan. Saturday.
“He’s flying home on Saturday?” I ask.
She nods. “He’s coming home for the Community Cares Fundraiser next week.”
“Fundraiser? No one mentioned that.” Not that I bothered to read all the information online. “Are we supposed to go to something?”
“Not the regular volunteers. I am because my parents are on the board. Ethan and I are trotted out every year to look perfect in our evening clothes and inspire donors to give more.”
“You have evening clothes?” I raise my eyebrows. “What happens if you wear them during the day? Clothes police come and arrest you?”
“Ha,” she says drily. “Joke if you want, but it’s not easy achieving fabulousness. That’s what I was shopping for yesterday. Shoes for my long dress. Ethan gets fitted for a tux.”
“Doesn’t make sense. Spending all that money for a charity event. Why don’t you just donate the money and call it good?”
“That’s not how it’s done.”
“That’s how it’d be done if I were in charge.”
Her eyes narrow. “If you were in charge, there wouldn’t be any event because these things have to be planned.”
“There’s that word again.”
“Speaking of plans,” she says. “We have a plan for tonight? As much as I’m sure it pains you to admit.”
She’s right—but not for the reason she thinks. When I pull out of the parking lot, my palms are sweating again. I nearly turn around twice. I’ve never brought a girl home. Never shown my workspace to anyone except Coop and Tucker. Even they were like, Dude! It’s cool, but it’s junk.
Mai’s reaction will be a thousand times worse.
But that’s the point. Let her see. Let her in, so she’ll want out.
So I’ll want out.
Now, my hands are clenching and unclenching around the wheel, and that voice inside me is saying, Don’t be an idiot. You’ve got another week with her. Enjoy it!
I turn down my street, my foot barely on the gas. I’ll drive by. Drive past. Pretend I’m detouring to confuse her. I’ll take her to the trampoline place or—
“It’s the junk house.” She’s sitting forward, smiling. Pointing to my house.
My hands clench again.
Damn.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Mai
“I know that house!” I lean toward Anthony as he slows the car. I can’t believe I haven’t been paying attention. I know this neighborhood. The smaller ranch-style homes and grassy front yards. Ethan took violin lessons from a woman who lived over here, and I had to drive with Mom, dropping him off or picking him up. I’m so excited when I see the junk house that I can’t help but point it out.
Anthony hits the brakes, and I take that as a request to explain, though it’s obvious from the dozens of metal animals and flowers placed around the yard. “You can see why Ethan called it the junk house.”
“Yeah, I’m not surprised.”
He sounds angry, but before I can figure out why, he hits the gas and bounces us into the driveway. “Anthony—don’t.” I grip the dash, embarrassed that the people who live here will…
Oh Lord.
His voice. The jut of his chin. A muscle ticking along his forearm. My heart dives into my stomach. “This is your house.”
“Yeah. It is. The junk house.” He shoves the gearshift into reverse.
“Anthony. Wait. It’s not the way it sounds.”
“It’s exactly the way it sounds.” He starts to back out, and I grab his arm.
“You have to let me explain.” His arm feels like the metal scattered across his yard. Impossibly hard.
He blows out a disbelieving breath, but he also keeps his foot on the brake.
“I’m not saying that as if it’s a bad thing.”
He shakes my hand off his arm. “You’ve never been a bullshitter, Mai. Don’t start now.”
“I’m serious.” My voice shakes, I want him to believe me so badly. “We drove past your house every week on the way to Ethan’s violin lessons. We would always look, try to see what was new. I liked it. It was like something out of a book. A zoo made of metal. Ethan was the one who called it the Junk House, and the name stuck, but…” I let out a shuddering breath. There is no but. “I shouldn’t have called it that.”
“That’s what it is.” He barely turns his face as if he can’t stand to look at me. “You wanted to know what I was collecting on the trail? Junk.” He looks around the yard. “This is what I do with it.”
“You…” I swallow a growing lump of surprise. “You made all of this?” There’s a mouse with spoons for ears and a metal thermos for a body. An owl with wings made from the teeth of a rake and eyes from the face of golf clubs.
Everywhere I look is…art.
His mouth stretches into an ugly sneer I’ve never seen. “Don’t freak, Mai. It’s only a fling. No one knows.”
My eyes widen when I realize what he thinks, and then…then I’m mad. He’s only hearing what he wants to. I grab his forearm again. I don’t have much in the way of nails, but what I do have I dig in to his arm. “Don’t be a jerk. I didn’t mean it like that.”