Page 321 of Ruthless Court
“Yes.”
“You pulled out my chair.”
“Yes.”
“You carried my books.”
“You bought three.”
“They weren’t heavy.”
“I know.”
There it is again.
Not because you can’t.
Because I want to.
The distinction slips beneath my defenses before I can stop it.
I climb into the truck.
“Thank you.”
Kane’s expression changes slightly.
Like the words matter more than they should.
“You’re welcome.”
He closes the door gently.
I watch him circle the hood.
This is dangerous.
Not Kane.
This.
The possibility that I might actually like being cared for.
* * *
The drive back to campus is quiet.
Not awkward quiet.
The kind where nothing needs filling.
Music plays low through the speakers. Something with an acoustic guitar instead of the usual bass-heavy songs Kane claims are motivational.
His hand rests on the console between us.
Mine is in my lap.
For three miles, I consider moving it.
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