Page 19 of The Pursuit of Happiness
“I was thinking I could take you to one of those vintage antique shops and then lunch,” he has an excited gleam in his bright eyes.
My brows rise as my eyes widen. How could he possibly know I love vintage stores? “How did you know I love those stores?” I’m impressed, my voice shocked.
He smirks, “I may have asked Brody and Ivory for suggestions.”
I can’t hide the smile that takes over my face. My friends know me so well. They knew a good shopping spree at a vintage shop would cheer me up. I make a mental note to text them later and thank them. “Well, you made the right choice asking them because Ilovevintage stores.” My voice comes out excited, happy even, which throws me off since all I’ve been feeling since Selene told me I’d have to see Sly today was an incessant need to get it over with, and sheer irritation. Though now that I know he put thought into where he planned on taking me, I decide to take it back a few notches on my attitude.
He puts the car in reverse to maneuver out of his spot and when he does that, he starts driving down the busy streets of LA.“What do you like about the vintage stores?” He asks, curiosity in his voice.
The stubborn side of me wants to shut his ice-breaker question down, but the part that just decided to play nice wins the battle as I say, “I like the little trinkets. There’s always something you’d never expect to find and the beauty of it is that some of those items have lived a million lives, being passed down from person to person, and then it ends up in my hands,” I admit.
“I like that. I didn’t think of it that way.” He pauses before he adds, “I like that you’re not disgusted by the idea of touching something or buying something that someone else has already used or loved. A lot of people in our world would prefer designer items, all new and made only for them to use or wear once.”
I like the perspective he shares which is why I continue, “Those things can be nice and all but they don’t have meaning. The trinkets at the antique stores have meaning.”
“They do,” he agrees and the conversation topic fades out. We’re encased in a sudden comfortable silence as Sly continues driving to the store. About five minutes pass before he asks in a low voice, “Do you want music?”
“Sure,” I shrug. I guess a little music is better than silence.
He twists the knob to increase the volume and all of a sudden, old Eminem music starts playing. I hide my smile, completely shocked that this is the kind of music he listens to in his car when we quite literally make our own music. I listen to Satan’s Angels music but I also listen to plenty of other bands. Overall, I only listen to rock. My awe increases when Sly starts to whisper along to the lyrics. “Wow,” I laugh as I take him in.
He instantly smiles, “What?”
“I didn’t take you for an Eminem fan.”
He gives me an amused look, “Whatdidyou take me for?”
I shrug, “I don’t know. I just assumed you listened strictly torock since, you know, we make rock music,” my tone is sarcastic.
He chuckles and the sound sends vibrations throughout my entire body, the small hairs on my arms rising in reaction to him, “Just because we make a certain genre of music doesn’t mean we can’t listen to or enjoy others.”
“True,” I agree. “What other genres do you like?” I ask, my voice friendly. I don’t know why I ask or why I care but I just couldn’t let the conversation fade away. I don’t want to delve into the why on that one. I’m just gonna tell myself that it’s the best way to pass the time and if I’m gonna be stuck with Sly for the foreseeable future, I might as well make the most of it.
He takes a moment to think before he answers, “Almost all of them.”
“Elaborate,” I command, an eyebrow raised in curiosity.
“Rap, classical, jazz, rock of course. I like everything but country,” he explains, a sudden seriousness in his tone.
I nod, “I can get on board with that. I hate country. Ivory likes it and she tries to play it around me sometimes and I have to actually threaten her life to make it stop.”
He laughs and gives me a look that makes my breath catch, “It seems we have something in common then. Aside from the fact we’re in bands.”
“And the fact that we like the color blue,” I add, a playful lilt to my voice.
He tilts his head at me and gives me a questioning look and I answer it with, “Your car. I assumed blue was your favorite color when I saw it.”
He shakes his head, laughing to himself about something I doubt he’ll share with me before he turns back to face the road. I want to ask him what’s so funny and what he isn’t telling me but just as I’m about to do so, he parallel parks the car right outside the shop. “We’re here,” he announces. He puts the car in park and shuts the engine off before opening his door. When he seesthat I’m about to open mine he shoots a hand out to stop me and I instantly freeze, “Don’t. I got it.” He quickly ushers himself out of the car and around to my side.
I don’t know if I should be flattered because he’s a gentleman or neutral because this is part of the role he’s playing as my fake boyfriend. Part of me wants it to be the former…
I scold myself internally for letting myself have my guard so low. I’m supposed to hate him considering he’s partly to blame for this mess, but then he goes and smiles at me with that stupid boyish smile and his stupid perfect face. Ugh.
My door opens while I’m still internally battling my libido with no success and Sly reaches a hand out for me to grab. I immediately catch sight of paparazzi behind him flashing their cameras and shouting out questions. Sly ignores them with no effort but for me, it’s a little harder to pretend they don’t exist when I hear them talking about the tape. I shake it off and grab Sly’s hand, allowing him to help me out of the car.
He places his hand on the small of my back to guide me into the store, his body close enough to mind that the paparazzi won’t see my face because his body is shielding it. I feel grateful to him that he’s keeping me out of their view all while ensuring they still get their pictures of us as Selene requested. He must have seen it all on my face earlier or just known somehow, but I feel grateful nonetheless. My skin feels warm through my top where his hand makes contact with my body and I feel my bones getting shaky. Why do I react to him this way? He makes me feel like a teenager who’s crush looked at her in math class.
Just as I think I’ve gotten a grip on my hormones, he drops his hand and reaches for mine. I suck in a small breath, totally in shock because it doesn’tfeelfake. It feels real and I’m not sure how I feel about that.
