Page 37 of Tainted Love

Damn. There goes my peace. And it’s about to get worse.

“I have an idea,” Dad says. “Sash, since you’re not doing anything. Why don’t you drive Michael to see his grandma.”

Traitor!

“Oh, I don’t know about that, Dad,” I say. “I wouldn’t want to interrupt their family time.”

“I’d sure feel better about the whole thing,” Dad says.

Keep talking, old man. You’re going to be in the room next to Gram.

I sigh, looking to Michael to get me out of this. But there he sits, with a shit-eating grin etched across his stupid, handsome face.

“I think it’s a great idea,” he says. “We can play games, and maybe you can knit something with Gram.” Apparently, this man thinks I’m one of the Golden Girls.

But I do like old people. They don’t have time for bullshit, so they tend to be straight shooters. I respect it. And Michael’s grandmother was always so sweet, from what I can remember. So, I choose to focus on that part of the equation, not the part where I’m stuck with Michael all day.

“Fine. I’ll get dressed,” I say, which earns me two appreciative smiles from my parents. Now I feel bad about inwardly threatening to put them in an old folks home. “What time should I be ready?”

“We don’t have to go over until around ten,” he replies. “That’s usually when she’s expecting me.”

“I’ll see you then,” I say, grabbing my coffee and heading to my room. If I’m spending another day with Michael, I’m going to need more sleep.

“Hurry up!” I yell, leaning half out of my car. Michael comes strolling out of the house, holding his t-shirt rather than wearing it and pops into my car like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Getting in the car before you become unglued.”

“Do you ever bother to wear clothes?” I ask, looking him up and down and trying not to stop to count his abs. There are at least six. Maybe eight. How is that possible?

“Why? You like what you see?” he says with a smirk.

“Not really,” I say as I reverse out of my driveway.

“Could’ve fooled me,” he replies snarkily before carefully pulling on his shirt and snapping his seat belt.

“What are you blathering on about?”

“You’re the one who stole my towel last night and then ogled me like a piece of meat,” he says. “I feel objectified.”

“First of all, you’re delusional. Secondly, I’ve never seen anyone appreciate the attention of women more than you do.”

“Not all women,” he says with a smile.

“Whatever,” I scoff. “Where is this place again?”

“It’s Rose Meadows,” he replies, his tone suddenly laced with sadness. “On the south end of town. But can we make a stop first?”

“Where?” I ask, unable to keep the exacerbation out of my voice.

“Carlisle’s Bakery. It’s Gram’s favorite, and I like to pick up fresh donuts and muffins on Sundays.”

I can’t help the sideways smile that breaks across my face.

“What?”

“Nothing,” I say with a shake of my head.