Page 102 of ClickBack

“Doing what? Because I’m sure women have flown places with you before and understood exactly what the room was for.”

I get up. “Don’t do that.”

She looks at me, angry enough that I can see her deciding whether to go further. I’m angry enough to hope she doesn’t.

“Have I made you feel like you owe me anything?” I ask.

“No.”

“Then why would you say that?”

“Because you keep acting like I’m difficult for asking a question.”

“Be mad about that, then. Don’t put that other shit on me.”

She looks down at the towel. I wait, but I’m not giving her much room to answer. I want her to take back the hotel remark before I have to think about the question I refused to answer.

“Take me home,” she says.

I pick up my phone and call Graves.

We ride toward the airport with the skate box still in my bag. Outside, the city goes on having a Friday. Beside me, Giselle keeps her hands folded over her purse. I look at them, remembering how easily she touched me this morning, and hate how far away she feels in the same back seat.

“I was wrong about the hotel,” she says. “You didn’t make me feel obligated. I said it because I was angry.”

“Yeah. You did.”

“I’m sorry.”

I let myself look at her. She doesn’t turn away, and that helps more than it should.

“You asked me where we were going,” I say. “I could’ve just answered.”

“Yes.”

“I wanted you to walk in and see it. The place. What I got you. I got stuck on how I wanted that to happen.”

“I was already having a good time.”

That makes me feel worse. I had her laughing in a fountain. I had her beside me on the plane saying yes. None of it needed improving so badly that I couldn’t tell her the name of a building.

“I’m sorry for how I spoke to you.”

“Thank you.”

I reach for the duffel. “I bought you something for today. I still want you to have it.”

She watches me take out the box. I put it between us and leave my hands on my own knees while she opens it.

The white boots are bright against the tissue. She lifts one, turns it over, and runs a finger along the stitching.

“Skates.”

“Yours. The shop set them up for you.”

“How did you know my size?”

“You left sneakers at my place. I looked at the label.”