Page 50 of Penalty Shot

I slump over him like a rag doll, pliant and boneless. When my eyes realign and my heartbeat eases, I pull back.

“Elise,” he mutters, “God, I…I don’t know what I was saying. I don’t mean to—”

“We got carried away, that’s all,” I interrupt with a forced laugh.

Scooting off his lap feels wrong, yet I reposition myself on the passenger seat. It feels unnatural to extricate myself from his arms. Slipping back into my seat is an exercise in awkwardness.

Cold and insufficient compared to the heat of Randall’s chest, my dress with its twisted top and bunched skirt is uncomfortable. While I straighten my clothes, Randall removes the condom and secures his pants.

In a blink, we’re two people with too much and absolutely nothing to say, staring at a bridge and barely seeing it.

“I, um, your rules,” he breaks the silence. “Your rules about hooking up while you’re in a performance. Are you OK with what happened? Are you upset?”

“No!” I exclaim immediately. “No, I’m not upset at all. I didn’t plan for tonight to happen, but I’m glad it did.”

He looks relieved.

I, on the other hand, am pushing down a swell of panic. Feeling out of control isn’t me. Breaking my rules isn’t me. Craving to hold his hand isn’t me.

Wanting to dig into this goddamn glove compartment and throw his condoms out the window Is. Not. Me.

I will not obsess over his choice of words:hooking up.Ugly words, come to think of it. What am I, a fish to be pulled from a river?

Still, there’s no denying the words convey an accurate account of his point of view.

“I, um, I leave early tomorrow,” I state.

“Do you want me to drop you at the hotel?”

“No, I came with my mom, and she’ll have to stay much longer.”

No need to add that I’m in no state to be at a charity fundraiser right now.

“She was the designated driver since she doesn’t touch alcohol. Can you drive me home instead? I’ll let her know.”

“Of course.”

Winding our way back to the city, our post-coital tension lowers to a manageable level. Being with Randall has always been effortless. Zipping by streetlights and buildings, I try to remember the ease of our friendship.

So what if we had sex? We got it out of our system. We’ve done it before and managed to be normal around each other after.

But he said things I didn’t realize I needed to hear until he said them.My heart swoons.

Till he took it back.Thank you, brain, for reminding me that I’m a hookup.

“I’ll walk you to your door,” he declares while parking in our driveway.

It’s at the tip of my tongue.Yes, sirlike it’s a casual, inside joke. A wink. A gag.

“Sure,” I state cheerily instead.

When we hug and say our goodnight we’re almost back to normal.

Frustration is the devil on my shoulder every time I think about making love to Elise in my car. Not only because I’m dying to repeat it again and again, but also because What. The hell. Happened.

How did I say too much and yet nothing at all?

I had stood outside Elise’s door for a solid two minutes after she entered her house. Driving away without saying more felt so fucking wrong.