Page 55 of Wrong For Me

“My car’s in the shop,” I mutter, battling the familiar defensiveness. “And my roommate—my ride—got called to some family emergency.”

Rose wrinkles up her nose. “The bus system in this part of town isn’t great.”

I bite back a laugh. Los Angeles has never been known for stellar public transportation. This little corner by the campus is particularly scant on good options.

Then Rose surprises me. “When I first started undergrad here, I was hoping to be able to take the bus every day. But it would have taken like, an hour and a half, plus tons of walking, just to get here from my apartment.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Why did you want to take the bus?” Surely she can afford a car. Hell, she can probably afford a fucking full-time driver.

Her cheeks redden. “I, uh, wasn’t a big fan of driving,” she admits in a soft, embarrassed voice. Then she clears her throat, straightening her shoulders. “But I’m much better now, so you should just let me drive you.”

I gape up at her, having difficulty keeping up with what she’s saying. “Drive me?”

“Yeah.” She pulls out a ring of keys from the oversized, patchwork bag on her shoulder. “It’s no problem.”

“No, thank you,” I say immediately, without even thinking. It’s a habit for me now, to turn down an offer like that. But even if I had thought about it, I certainly would have refused. In the first place, she already shared her lunch with me. For a guy not at all comfortable taking help from someone, that’s already one favor too many. But sitting in a car with Rose? It’s bad enough sitting in this office with her. No way could I handle being closed up in a vehicle with her. She probably has something tiny and sporty, come to think of it. No. Just…no.

She raises an eyebrow. “You’d rather spend more than an hour on the bus?”

I chew on the inside of my cheek, trying to come up with a plausible reason that the bus would be better. Preferably a reason that doesn’t include the sentence, “I’m too afraid I’ll try to kiss you if I get in your car.”

Rose crosses her arms, expression tightening. “Look, I said I didn’t like to drive. I never said I couldn’t. Or that I was bad at it. I’m actually really good! And I enjoy it now. I promise you’re not going to, like, be in danger if you bum a ride with me.”

“I didn’t think that,” I begin, but Rose reaches down and grabs my backpack from the floor, plopping it onto my lap.

“Then come on,” she says, like it’s no big deal at all. “I’ll get you there a hell of a lot faster than the bus.”

Frantically I try to find an excuse not to go with her. But my brain seems to be short circuiting. And Rose is already marching towards the door.

So, without the slightest idea what in the world I’m doing, I get up and follow her out.