Carpool (Milford College, #1)

by Noelle Adams

  “Don’t I count as a distraction?”

  “You’re definitely a distraction, but you’re one I can say no to. I can’t say no if I need to counsel a student or talk to my boss.”

  “Do you work a lot outside office hours?”

  I shrug. “I do some. It depends on the time of year. Don’t you ever work outside the office?”

  “Only when there’s an emergency. I try not to otherwise.”

  “Well, aren’t you lucky.” My voice is slightly sarcastic.

  “They only pay you for eight hours a day. Anything more you do, you’re doing for free.”

  “I know that. But some jobs require more. What am I going to do? Tell them sorry, I don’t have time to do the stuff I need to do?”

  “Yes. Tell them exactly that.”

  I roll my eyes. “Maybe that’s worked for you, but it doesn’t work for me. If something is my responsibility, then I’m going to do it, whether or not I can fit it into a regular eight-hour workday.”

  He’s quiet for a moment, his eyes focused on the road. I don’t know what to expect from him, but I don’t expect the gentleness of his tone when he murmurs, “You’re big on responsibility, aren’t you?”

  “Of course I am. Don’t you know me at all?”

  “Yes. I know you.”

  For some reason the words give me a shiver up and down my spine. “If people are counting on me, I’m not going to let them down. I’m just not.” I stare at my hands, holding the edges of the stack of printed slides. “I’ve never understood people who just don’t care if they disappoint people who rely on them.”

  “Are you talking about me?” he asks softly.

  I glance up in surprise. “No! No, I’m really not.”

  His face relaxes. “Are you talking about your mom?”

  I swallow hard. Give him a jerky nod.

  I’m scared of what he’ll say now. That he’ll make a teasing comment, act dismissive of something that’s very important to me.

  He doesn’t say anything at all, however.

  When I look back, he’s watching me from the corner of his eye.

  I straighten up and retrain my face into its normal cool composure. “Anyway. I take life seriously. I take my job seriously. And I’m not going to risk losing it by never working outside normal hours. This presentation isn’t hard. I just want to do a good job on it.”

  “It sounds deadly dull to me.”

  “Well, it’s not that exciting, but talking about FAFSA and deadlines and which parent information to include if you’re divorced is never going to be a lot of fun. But it has to be done, and it’s not that bad.”

  He nods as if he believes me, and I think he’s let the topic drop, so I go back to my presentation.

  After a minute or two he says, as if we never had a break in the conversation, “I get taking your responsibilities seriously, but you can get to a point where all you’re doing is trying to live up to other people’s expectations, and then you never really know what you want for yourself.”

  “I know what I want.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes, I do. Why would you assume I don’t?”

  “What do you want?”

  I stare at him, trying to figure out what he’s asking.

  He’s been looking at the road, but he meets my eyes with a brief, challenging expression. “What do you want, Jennifer?”

  I have a quick, hot vision of the two of us in bed together. I have no idea where it comes from, but it’s seriously disturbing. Shaking the image away, I say coolly, “I want to do a good job at work. I want to eventually get a promotion and maybe a raise in pay. I want to be able to afford a new transmission or even a new car. I want to take care of my grandmother.”

  “That’s not what I mean. That’s wanting to get through your life a little more easily. I want to know what you want if you could have any future in the world. Do you want this job? Do you want to live in Sterling? Do you want the life you have?” His tone isn’t intense. It’s still mostly casual, but it unnerves me just the same.

  I stare at him. Try to process what I should say.

  I have absolutely no idea how to answer him.

  “What do you want, Jennifer?” he asks very softly. He’s looked away from me now, almost intentionally.

  I gulp. Take a deep breath. I feel stripped bare for no reason at all. I tell him the truth. “I want to feel... secure. Like I’m not always grappling to hold my world together. I just want to feel secure, however that works out.”

  Our gazes meet across the distance between us. He nods, and it’s an oddly affirming acknowledgment of what I just told him.

  Maybe that’s why I have the courage to ask, “What about you? What do you want, Marcus?”

  For a moment I think he’s going to give me a flippant response, and it will toss my honest admission back in my face. I’d be able to resent him again then. I’d be able to dislike him without qualm or hesitation. If he doesn’t honor my honesty with his own.

  But he doesn’t give me that freedom.

  Instead of a smirk and an ironic answer, he says in an unusually thick voice, “I want someone to know me for real.”

  My eyes widen. “People know you. You’ve lived in Sterling all your life.”

  “They know things about me, but they don’t know me. I’m not sure anyone does. And sometimes I’d like at least one person to.”

  “What about your folks?”

  “I love them. They love me. But do they know me for real? I don’t really think so. They’ve always been disappointed in me.”

  “But you’ve stuck around to help them with the farm.” I’m genuinely shocked by this piece of information. It never occurred to me that parents wouldn’t appreciate an adult child making such a sacrifice. “You could have done anything you wanted, and you stuck around.”

  “I had a lot to make up for,” he says, not meeting my eyes anymore. “I spent a lot of years being nothing but a problem for them. But honestly I think they’d prefer me to have married and started giving them grandkids.”

  “Haven’t your brothers given them enough grandkids already?”

  “They can never have enough.”

  I’m thinking about what he’s told me, what it reveals about his nature. “Are you close to your brothers?”

  He shrugs. “Eh. Better than we used to be, but they live very different lives than me.”

  “Maybe if you’d go out with a woman more than once or twice, you’d find one to feel close to and she’d know you for real.”

  He gives a huff of laughter. “That doesn’t work for me.”

  “Why not?”

  “Dating makes me feel more alone. I have no idea why.”

  My chest is aching. I’m feeling way too much. I don’t have a clue how to handle it. “Sometimes it makes me feel lonely too. Like I’m just putting on a pose, an act, wearing a mask.”

  “Yeah. That’s exactly how it feels. I’m trying to be someone I’m not just so the woman will like me.”

  “So why do you keep dating everyone of the female persuasion in the county?”

  “Not everyone.” His mouth is turning up again. He looks a lot more like himself.

  “Well, enough. Why keep dating around so much if you don’t enjoy it.”

  “I do enjoy some parts of it.”

  “Like what?” My eyes are wide. I’m so incredibly clueless. I really have no idea what he’s talking about.

  He arches his eyebrows with a particular hot look.

  I blush like a fool. “Oh.”

  “I like having sex. And I usually like the women I go out with. It’s just that I never feel like they really know me.”

  “You need friends.”

  “I have plenty of friends.”

  “I mean real friends. Not just guys you hang out with to drink beer and watch sports. I mean friends who know you deeply. If you don’t have real community, then you’re never going to let people get to know you. It doesn’t happe
n magically.”

  “Do you have community?”

  “Yes. I do. I have my grandmother. And Beck. And Giselle from high school. They’re like family to me. And I’ve always felt like I’m part of Sterling. I’d like to get married and have a family eventually, but I don’t need one to feel like I’m part of a community. You don’t either.”

  I can’t read his face very well. I can’t tell if he’s taking me seriously or not. I think maybe he is.

  It’s a strange feeling. Validating.

  I never once dreamed I’d be able to say something that might genuinely help Marcus Greene.

  “But back to my previous point,” he says after a minute, his tone light and teasing again. Evidently we’ve probed into his soul for long enough. “You shouldn’t work all the time. You should find some way to enjoy yourself.”

  “I enjoy myself just fine.”

  “Yeah?”

  I stick out my chin. “Yes. I get plenty of enjoyment.”

  For some reason the words come out differently than I intend. I can see that Marcus is reading them sexually. His eyes heat up in that way that makes my skin flush.

  “Get your mind out of the gutter,” I tell him.

  “Can’t do it. My mind pretty much lives there.”

  “Well, try.”

  “I would like to hear more about all this enjoyment you’re having.” He drawls out the words seductively.

  I growl at him. “You’re the last person I’d ever tell about my enjoyment.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  “Yes, I’m sure.” I’m actually not sure. We just had as intimate a conversation as I’ve ever had with anyone except Beck and Giselle, and I’d never have done so intentionally. For some reason this man can tempt me to do things I’d never considered before. My grandmother was right all along about how dangerous he is.

  He laughs soft and husky.

  I clear my throat and look away from him. It takes more effort than it should. “Now be quiet. I need to get through this presentation.”

  I STOP DREADING MY morning and evening commutes.

  It’s not like I look forward to them now. After all, Marcus is obnoxious half the time, and the rest of the time I have absolutely no idea what to expect. I’m always on edge. Always trying to steady my heart. Always trying not to like him too much because he changes from minute to minute.

  But still... the rides to and from work aren’t as terrible as I assumed they would be. That’s something.

  On Friday after work, he’s unusually quiet, and I’m starting to wonder if he had a bad day. He’s usually fairly chatty unless I make it clear I want to work or am not in the mood for conversation.

  The idea pricks at me. Maybe something is bothering him. Maybe something has upset him. Maybe something bad has happened, and I have no idea what it is.

  I sit, shifting occasionally in my seat and watching him. Now that I’m noticing, he does look kind of tense. There’s a muscle rippling in his jaw, and he’s holding the steering wheel tighter than normal. His shoulders are very fine—broad and strong beneath the blue cotton of his shirt—but they also don’t look relaxed.

  Something’s wrong. I mull over what it could be until I can’t stand it anymore.

  I open my mouth to ask him if everything is okay.

  Then—contrary as he always is—he finally speaks. “You planning to work this weekend?”

  I’m surprised by the question since we’ve said nothing to lead up to it. I blink and then blink again. “What?”

  “Are you planning to work this weekend? I know you sometimes do.”

  “Yeah, but not usually at this time of year. This isn’t the busy time of year.”

  “Good. That means you can have some fun this weekend.” He slants me a significant look and a half smile that’s very familiar.

  I frown because that’s what his cockiness deserves. “I told you before I have plenty of fun.”

  “Do you? What kind of fun are you planning to have this weekend?” There’s a lilt to his tone, but it changes after a brief pause. “I can suggest a few things if you need some help.”

  “Ha!” The exclamation is a bit more forceful than I intend, but I’ve gone from worried about him to annoyed by him in two seconds flat. “I don’t need your suggestions for fun. I can just imagine what you might suggest.”

  “You might be surprised. And most of the options wouldn’t even be scary. You want to hear a couple?” He cuts his eyes over to me again with that same little smile but one that looks almost questioning.

  I roll my eyes. “I told you. I have plenty of fun on my own.”

  “But fun can be so much funner with someone else.” There’s more than a lilt to his voice now. It’s nakedly erotic.

  I blush hotly, and I hate myself for doing it. But there’s no way to stop myself. His words have conjured up all sorts of images I shouldn’t be having.

  It takes a minute, but I pull myself together, and I’m able to convey lofty disdain as I say primly, “Who said I’d be having fun alone. I happen to have a date this weekend.”

  Marcus’s eyebrows go up, and he adjusts in his seat. “Oh yeah?”

  “Yes.”

  “With Franks?”

  “With George. Yes. We’re going out tomorrow night.”

  He’s not smiling anymore, but he doesn’t look particularly surprised by this piece of news. He’s focused on the road as he says, “Where’s he taking you?”

  “To a movie.”

  “I thought you already went to a movie.”

  “There’s more than one movie out at any one time, you know.”

  “Yeah, but he could try to be more creative for dates. He’s got to keep you on your toes.”

  I shake my head, feeling rattled for no reason at all. It’s not like Marcus is taking any of this seriously. It’s all a big joke to him. I’m someone who interests him to a certain extent but only as an amusement. He doesn’t really care about my social life. He just wants more fodder for teasing.

  So why I’m feeling awkward and like I want to take care with my words right now, I have no idea. “It’s a date. It doesn’t have to keep me on my toes. I like movies, and so does he. Movies are a very normal thing to do.”

  “I still say it sounds boring. What time is he picking you up?”

  “He’s not picking me up. And what does it matter?”

  “What do you mean he’s not picking you up?” For the first time, he sounds something other than lightly amused. “Why isn’t he picking you up?”

  “Because the movie theater is in Milford. It doesn’t make sense for him to drive forty-five minutes to pick me up and then forty-five minutes to take me home. I’m meeting him there.”

  “You’re kidding,” he mutters. “What a lazy jackass.”

  “He’s not a lazy jackass. Most guys wouldn’t want to make that long drive as an empty gesture toward being a gentleman.”

  “But you have to make the drive. The least he could do is share it with you. You don’t even have a car right now. How are you going to get there?”

  “I’ve got someone who will lend me a car for the evening. It’s a third date, Marcus. George doesn’t have to share an endless drive with me. Are you telling me you’d drive almost an hour out of your way there and back just to pick a girl up for a casual date?”

  “If I liked her I would.” His tone is low. I could almost swear he’s serious.

  It makes me feel weird. And it makes me question my upcoming date with George, which I’d been looking forward to.

  And, damn it, Marcus is probably doing it on purpose—just to be a pest.

  I give him the scowl he deserves. “When you live as far out as I do and try to date, you get used to making the drive. I know you’ve dealt with it too, and being a woman doesn’t change the reality.”

  “I still think he should get his ass in gear and pick you up.”

  “Well, you just go right ahead and tell him your opinion. I’m sure he’
ll be glad to hear it.” I sniff and am pleased with the way I’ve handled the awkward conversation.

  Then I shoot Marcus a quick look. He’s entirely capable of following up on my sarcastic challenge.

  And what the hell will I do if Marcus decides to tell George that he should drive all that way to pick me up for our date.

  I’d have to bury myself in a bunker twenty feet underground and never come out.

  Marcus chuckles. “Don’t look so scared. I’m not going to say anything to Franks.”

  I try to hide my sigh of relief. “I didn’t think you were.”

  “But I still think it’s a red flag.”

  “Oh my God, Marcus. If I took every random thing as a red flag, I’d never have any guys to date at all. The options are few and far between in this area to begin with, and it’s not like guys are beating down my door to ask me out.”

  “They aren’t?” He’s focused on me again for the first time in a few minutes. He looks natural now. Like his regular self. Whatever he was feeling before has passed.

  “No! Of course they aren’t. I mean, I think I’m a good person and reasonably attractive, but I’ve never been very popular with men. I don’t know why.”

  “I know why.”

  I sit up straighter. “What?”

  “I know why. Don’t look at me like that. I’m not about to insult you. I just know why you think you aren’t popular with men.”

  “Because I’m not.”

  “Because you’re intimidating.”

  My mouth drops open. “I’m what?”

  “Why do you always ask me to repeat things you heard perfectly clearly?”

  “Because you’re always saying things that make no sense, so I’m convinced I didn’t hear them right. I am not intimidating.”

  We’ve reached the outskirts of Sterling now, so Marcus slows down to thirty-five as the speed limit lowers. “Yes, you are. You’ve always been intimidating, even when you were thirteen years old. You’re so pretty and you’re so smart and you’re so serious. You look like you expect seriousness from everyone else, and you have no idea what chickenshit cowards guys can be when it comes to girls. You scare them. They don’t think they’re deep enough or serious enough or... or substantial enough to approach you.”