Wish

The Car Ride

It was raining when I finished.

11:19PM. No Ubers. No bus.

I stood under the awning of Cole Tower with my blazer over my head, pretending that would help.

The building doors opened behind me.

“You’re still here.”

Damien. No umbrella. Suit jacket in hand.

“My car’s late,” I lied. “I can wait.”

“It’s pouring,” he said. “Get in.”

I hesitated.

Rule #1 of working for Damien Cole: Don’t be alone with him.

Rule #2: Pretend Rule #1 doesn’t exist.

I got in.

His car was quiet. Leather. Smelled like his cologne. Cedar and something expensive.

He didn’t turn the radio on. Didn’t talk. Just drove.

Rain hit the windows hard.

“Your address?” he asked.

“Maple Street. Apartment 3B.”

He typed it in.

Silence again. The kind that’s too loud.

I watched his hands on the wheel. No ring. Everyone knew. Damien Cole didn’t do relationships.

“You didn’t have to,” I said finally. “I would’ve been fine.”

“I know,” he said. “I did it anyway.”

My breath caught.

We stopped at a red light. He glanced at me. Just for a second.

Water dripped from my hair onto my shirt. I looked ridiculous.

“You’re cold,” he said.

He took off his suit jacket and handed it to me.

“Mr. Cole, I—”

“Damien,” he said. “When it’s just us.”

Just us.

I put the jacket on. It was warm. It smelled like him.

“Thank you… Damien.”

Saying his name felt illegal.

We pulled up to my building. 11:41PM.

I reached for the door handle. “Thanks for the ride.”

“Ava.”

I froze.

“Be careful,” he said. “Going up alone.”

It wasn’t about the rain.

“Okay,” I whispered.

I got out. Ran to the door.

In my apartment, I took off his jacket. Pressed my face into the collar.

*Note to Self: He doesn’t trust anyone. But he drove you home.*

I folded the jacket. Set it on my chair.

I didn’t wash it.