“Sasha, you coming?” She looks like she just bit into a lemon as she follows me, and I can’t work out why.

“I’ll be out in a second,” Drix informs me. “I need to talk to Dakota about our dinner plans this week.”

“Okay, I’ll wait for you at the car.” Sasha follows me in silence, and while we’ve only met once, I don’t remember anything being awkward or tense. It was very different from the vibe I’m getting off her right now. “How excited is Dakota coming to see Jagger and Emerson in their new place?” I ask, hoping to break whatever ice there is between us.

“She loves spending time with Jagger.”

The statement is final, and I figure there’s no point trying to prolong a conversation that isn’t really going anywhere in the first place. “Well, it was good seeing you again.”

I turn when an unexpected question stops me. “Are you and Hendrix together?”

“What?” I ask in shock. I don’t want to say yes, but for some reason I don’t want to say no.

“Inside,” she says, pointing back at the house over her shoulder. “It looked like something was going on.”

“Oh, that? That was nothing, we just had a few too many drinks last night celebrating Jagger and Em,” I explain. “You know, you’ve known Hendrix a lot longer than I. You could ask him yourself.” The tone of my voice is different, less friendly, more accusatory. But the solicitor in me knows better. Never give too much information away, especially when you don’t know why they want it.

“I’m sorry,” she backtracks, waving her hands in front of her. “It’s really none of my business, I don’t know why I even asked.”

I don’t know why she asked either, but I’m not stupid. There’s always a reason. Women are complex beings, and one thing every other woman knows, is we rarely do anything without thinking about it first.

“Hey.” Hendrix’s voice finds us before he does. But by the way her eyes dart to the side, following his movements, alerts me to his presence anyway. “Are you ready to go?”

“Yeah, Sasha and I were done talking.” Sasha turns her head away from us, and Drix tenses behind me. I think I now know what the issue is. I turn to face him, schooling my face to look less ruffled than I feel. “I might call that Uber.”

“What, why?” With pretend confusion written all over his face, he looks between us, hoping nothing could’ve possibly gone wrong.

“Stay here with your family,” I encourage.

“I can’t stay here.” His words are for me, but their meaning only makes sense when his eyes linger a little too long at the woman behind me.

Like yesterday, the impulsive need to pull him out of his sullen mood is instinctual. “Okay, let’s go. I’ve got another song I need you to hear.” The side of his mouth rises reassuringly. Looking back at Sasha I’m taken aback by her expression, a whirlpool of longing and pain staring straight at me. “I’ll meet you at the car,” I tell Hendrix, feeling compelled to give him and Sasha some time alone. “Um, it was nice seeing you again, Sasha.”

She raises her hand in response, words failing her this very moment. I head to the car, and pray it’s unlocked, itching to have distance from whatever this Hendrix and Sasha situation is. Pulling the handle, the door opens with ease. A black Hilux, Rogue, and what looks to be the most recent model; his car is all man. Just like him, it’s refined, and sleek with an intimidating presence that only adds to the appeal. Trying to swiftly manoeuvre myself into the beast of a vehicle, I place one hand on the inside armrest and use my right foot on the car step. Using both as leverage I simultaneously push and pull myself up until I’m levelled enough to slide on to the passenger seat. Closing the door, I use all my willpower to not look up at their interaction. I don’t want to be interested, I don’t want curiosity to get the best of me. I don’t want to care. I don’t want to be sucked into a disaster waiting to happen.

I rummage through my bag for my earphones and then spend a minute or two scrolling through a playlist on my phone. I’m hoping to find the perfect song to transition me from what happened outside, to the drive home with Hendrix. That’s what I do. I use music to fill-in the gaps, to speak when the words are too hard or awkward to find. It’s always been my solace. My comfort. The edge off a hard day, or the soundtrack to a perfect moment. Whenever there’s a significant time in my life, music is always the unyielding best friend. Holding my hand, getting me through.

By the time the driver’s side door opens and Hendrix steps in, I’m already two verses and a chorus into “Shake it Off” by Florence and the Machine. I keep my eyes down and focused on the screen in front of me, pretending that the music playing in my ears has me entranced enough to not notice he’s beside me, or that I saw Sasha lock herself in her car when she’s supposed to be going back into the house with Dakota’s overnight bag.

Fingertips shadow my earlobe, gracefully pulling at the earbud. Florence’s voice disappears, and I’m left with no choice but to acknowledge the defeated expression written all over Hendrix’s face.

“Can you sync it up through the car?” he asks, surprising me.

“Of course.” I keep my voice as normal as possible, like his mood change isn’t obvious, or how his slumped shoulders make him look like a young boy who’s lost his way. “Do you have any requests?”

“Whatever you were bopping your head to will work just fine.” I connect my phone to the car stereo, and the song picks up right where it left off.

“Here, let me put it up some.” I reach for the volume, but his hand covers mine, pushing it away.

“I was kinda hoping you could do that whole sing and dance thing you did for me yesterday?”

Instead of being my usual self, I curb the sarcastic remark that would normally come out and tease him for lying about his enjoyment of my antics yesterday, and I restart the song, preparing myself to act crazy at his request.

“Okay, are you ready?”

He chuckles, “Am I ready for crazy?

I nod.

He turns away from me, his eyes darting straight to Sasha’s car. The sound of the ignition mixes with the bass of the song. Once he checks his blind spots his focus returns to the hunk of metal that holds his secrets. He exhales loudly. “I don’t think I’ll ever be ready.”

The heaviness settles between us. “That’s okay, Sexy, you get points for trying.”

“Just pull up here,” I direct. The car slows down in front of my house, my car in the driveway, which means my mum is inside, just as I expected.

“Is that your car?”

“Yes, my mum needed it. That’s why I didn’t have it at Emerson’s. But look,” I gesture between the two of us. “This would’ve never happened.”

“This?”

“Yes. You and me in a perpetual state of talking about random shit, while really wishing we were naked.”

“Really?” He drags his hand down his face, stopping over his mouth, clearly thinking before he speaks again. “I thought it was pretty safe on the drive home.”

“Only because we were both busy distracting you from whatever went down with Sasha.” My hand covers my mouth as I mumble a muffled string of profanities under my breath. “Fuck, I’m so sorry. I have no idea why that slipped out.”

“Probably because it’s the truth.”

“It’s also none of my business.”

“You can’t help what you saw, and whatever it is that happened before I got there.”

“It was nothing, honestly.”

He shifts in his seat to face me. “Don’t lie now.”

“I’m not.”

“It’s the one thing that’s so refreshing about you.” It’s simple, but probably the nicest thing someone has ever said about me. My honesty has gotten me into trouble more times than I can count, and I was sure this was heading in that direction. “Can I ask you what she said?”

“What do you think she asked? She wants to know if the guy she’s in love with is with someone else.” He raises an eyebrow, perplexed like the idea never even crossed his mind. “Why are you surprised?” He doesn’t answer, so I decide to push the situation even further. “Don’t worry, I told her we’re only fucking,”

His jaw clenches and I wait for an outburst. Something to show how he really feels, a hint at why he’s so wound up about what went down, but as the seconds pass, whatever it is, festers. “Look, I might not have a filter, but I’m not an idiot. I didn’t say anything to her,” I huff, frustrated at his silence. “Besides the fact that I think it’s none of her business, you seem to be forgetting there’s nothing to tell. And,” I continue to ramble. “If it makes you feel any better, she was so embarrassed she even let herself utter the question.” He’s twisted himself away from me, facing the front and gripping the steering wheel. I take it as my cue to leave. “Okay, that’s enough for today. Thanks for the ride.” Grabbing my phone, I open the door and jump out as quick as I can, my bag still hanging across my body. Getting caught up in this shit isn’t worth the last few hours of my weekend. I slam the door only to be unexpectedly pushed back up on it.

“I’m sorry.” He cages me in with one arm, the other hand pinches the bridge of his nose. “This whole weekend caught me off guard.”

“The whole weekend?”

Both his arms are on either side of me now, his body covering mine. “Yeah. You and then Sasha. I didn’t expect to enjoy your company, and I had hoped to avoid hers.”

“Should I be offended you have really low expectations of me?” I ask feigning hurt. “Because that’s not the first time that’s popped up.”

“Yeah, it’s not the only thing that pops up when it comes to you.”

“Look at you twenty-four hours in my company and those sexual innuendos are strong.” A soft, coy smile materialises on his face, and he hangs his head to try and hide it. Standing straighter, my body forces him to look back up. “Don’t get shy on me now, Sexy. Tell me about how you enjoy my company.”

“Let’s just say it’s been a long time since someone has piqued my interest as much as you have.”

“And let me guess, Sasha is the reason why?”

He’s silent, again. Unlike me, he thinks before he talks, which also means quiet time is often. I decide to cut him some slack, remind him I have no expectations when it comes to his past. “I know the answer, and contrary to what’s going on in your mind, in this moment, I don’t need to know about you and her.”

“I feel like I should apologise for her attempt at interrogating you.”

“There’s nothing to apologise for. People in love do and say crazy things—”

He cuts me off, “She’s not in love with me.”

“Now who’s lying?”

“I’m not lying,” he insists. “It’s not something I do.”

“Then you’re blind.” I slip my phone in my back pocket, and place my hands firmly on his chest, putting us as close to eye level as I can. “I would bet my whole house she’s in love with you.”

“You’d lose.”

“Pffft,” I scoff. “I’m a solicitor. I never lose.”

“With Sasha, everyone loses.”

“You sound bitter.”

“Just experienced.”

Every revelation is another puzzle piece, and I’m forced to taper down the curiosity brewing within me. I’m torn between my natural need to want to know every morsel of every story, and the want to specifically know his story.

“And this got a lot heavier than I anticipated.” He holds my hands and pulls them off his chest, hiding his in the front pockets of his jeans, subtly putting distance between us. “I should let you go.”

“Yeah, my mum has probably turned my whole house upside down by now.” I tilt my head toward the house. “I’m surprised she’s not peeking through the window right now.”

He turns, checking for himself nobody is spying on us. “What’s she looking for?”

“Condoms, pregnancy tests, men’s clothes. Anything to prove I have a life, really.”

“She wants you to sleep around?” he asks, wrinkling his brow.

“She thinks I need male company, which she hopes and prays turns into marriage and babies.”

“And you?”

“And me, what?”

“Do you need those things?”

“No woman is going to turn down a good dick every now and then.” I never say or do anything for shock value, but watching his expression every time I say something unexpected is entertaining. “But I’m not that girl.”

“What girl?”

“The one who needs to fill that void, or who has a five-year plan and has to cross everything off that checklist before she hits a certain age. I live every day the way I want because I can. Whether I’m alone in ten years’ time with five fur babies, or married to a man that loves me more than I ever expected, and wants to fill our house with a soccer team of children, it will be what only I wanted, and I’ll be happy.”

The space he needed earlier doesn’t seem to come into play as he pushes me back onto the car. Breathless and exposed from my little outburst, I struggle to regain my focus, but he uses it to swoop in and take control. He laces his fingers into mine, guiding my arms up above my head, the veil of pain and sadness that covered his eyes earlier has been lifted, replaced with nothing but unadulterated want and hunger. “I want to kiss you.”

My tongue peeks out in anticipation. “So, do it.”

“I can’t,” he says, a pained expression on his face. “I won’t want to stop.”

“Is that so?” I purr.

He pushes his pelvis into mine, his thick shaft pressing against his jeans, and into my stomach, answering my question. “I want to be able to give you that good dick you like every now and then, and I can’t do that with your mum waiting.”

“Right.” The reminder of my mum has me looking behind him, scanning my windows, and making sure we don’t have an audience.

“The minute she leaves,” he continues. “I want you to call me.”

“And then?”

My head falls back, and my eyes close as soft lips latch on to my collarbone. “Then we’re going to organise a time where it’s just you and me.” He talks in between kisses, gracing the length of my neck, and stopping just below my ear. “Then I’m going to show you exactly how it should’ve gone the second you said you wanted to fuck.” He nips at my earlobe and I fail, miserably at suppressing a loud moan, my imagination running wild at the visual he’s created. He pulls back, releasing me so he can cradle my face in between his hands. “Me and you, Crazy, we’re going to rewrite the weekend.”