Abram’s laughter followed us as far as the street and I turned right even though I had no idea where his car was parked. Being so close to him was disconcerting and set my heart racing. We made it to the end of the block before Martin used my hold on his arm to stop us and pull us to the corner, out of the pedestrian traffic.

“Where are you going?”

I released him and took a step back, grateful for the space. “I don’t know. I just wanted to get you away from Abram.”

Martin’s gaze swept over my face. “Why? Does he bother you often?”

“No, not at all. He’s fine, and we get along fine. I think he was just trying to be helpful, in his own weird way.”

He was still scrutinizing me as he shifted a step closer. “You two...ever…?”

I released a pained sigh when I understood what he was asking, deciding the evening had taken a sharp turn in the direction of completely preposterous. I closed my eyes, fought the urge to cover my face.

I won. I didn’t cover my face. But I did take a minute to collect myself before saying, “That’s none of your business. You said you didn’t mind giving me a ride to the station.” I opened my eyes but didn’t manage to lift my gaze above his chin. “Will you please take me to Grand Central station so I can catch the train home?”

I could tell he wanted to say more, he wanted to yell, scream, and rage, and I couldn’t wrap my mind around the implications of his short fuse, why he might be angry. I reminded myself that this was Martin Sandeke, who always expected people to jump when he said so, who’d never had a problem yelling at females and males and turtles and grass and furniture. I braced for his tantrum.

Instead he took a deep breath, silent but visible in the rising and falling of his chest, and nodded. “Yes. It would be my pleasure to give you a ride to the station.”

I squinted at him, at his oddly polite words and tone. “Martin…?”

“Parker.”

“Is there anything else you’d like to say before we’re within the confines of your automobile? Anything loud perhaps?”

He shook his head and pulled his leather gloves out of his coat pocket, his tone soft, gentle even. “You should wear these. It’s cold.”

“You want to say something. What is it?”

“Weren’t you the one who always told me…”

Martin reached for one of my hands and I lost my breath when his skin came in contact with mine. I’m not going to lie, my pants went a little crazy, and my heart did a flip then thumped uncomfortably—all signs I was still intensely in lust with him. He hesitated, his thumb drawing a gentle line from my wrist to the center of my palm, then he slid the large glove over my fingers with more care than necessary. They were warm from his pocket.

When he’d slipped both gloves in place he lifted his bewitching eyes and finished his thought. “I can’t always have what I want.”

***

The car ride lasted less than fifteen minutes and was spent in wordless silence. Of note, it was also spent in a super fancy luxury automobile. I didn’t know the make or model, but the dials were in Italian, the seats were buttery-soft leather, and when he accelerated it made a really satisfying vroooom sound.

I’m not ashamed to admit I took off one of the gloves just so I could caress his taut…leather seats.

When we arrived at the station I turned to him, taking off the second glove, and said benignly, “Thank you for the ride.”

He gave me his profile as he nodded, his tone casual and polite. “No problem, any time.”

Confused by his weird politeness, and feeling remarkably empty though my heart had set up camp in my throat, I placed his gloves on the armrest between us and opened the door to leave.

Then he said, “I read The Lord of the Rings.”

I paused, my car door half open, and twisted to face him. “You did…?”

“Yes.” He cleared his throat then met my stare; his was guarded, bracing. “I did.”

“What did you think?”

“It was good…” Martin’s eyes lost focus and moved to the headrest next to my face. “Slow at first. I thought they were never going to get out of that Hobbit village.”

“Ah, yes. It only took them ten thousand pages and three thousand verses of elf songs.”

He smirked. “Give or take a thousand.”

I smiled, glanced down at my fingers where they twisted the strap of my bag.

I was surprised he’d read it and wasn’t sure what it meant, if it meant anything. I was still pondering this revelation when his next words shocked the heck out of me.

“I don’t think Frodo was responsible for the destruction of the ring.”

My gaze jumped to his and I found Martin watching me attentively, again as though he was scrutinizing me. I struggled with my bewilderment for several seconds at his referencing our conversation from so many months ago.

Finally I managed to sputter, “You…you think Sam is ultimately responsible then?”

“No,” he answered thoughtfully and then paused; he seemed to be memorizing my expression before continuing. “I think one couldn’t have done it without the other. I think Frodo needed Sam as much as Sam needed Frodo, maybe even more.”

I don’t know why, but my eyes misted over even though I wasn’t in danger of crying.

I gave him a soft smile, letting him see my pleased astonishment, and agreed quietly, “I think so, too.”

We stared at each other and I felt something pass between us. I surmised it was closure because it felt peaceful and good. We’d shared a beautiful week. Because of him I was on a new path, a path I loved. He’d woken me up, even if I was kicking and screaming the whole time, and even if it broke my heart in the process.

Maybe we weren’t meant for each other, but I finally realized that our time together wasn’t a waste. It changed me and I would always be grateful to him for that, even if we’d parted under painful circumstances.

“Thank you,” I said suddenly, breaking the moment.

“For what?”

I realized I couldn’t say, Thank you for waking me up to my passion without sounding wacko, so instead I said, “For reading the book, I guess. And for the ride to the station.” I tossed my thumb over my shoulder, my hand landing on the door to push it farther open.

“Right.” He swallowed, glancing behind me. “You’re welcome.”

“I should go.”

“Right.” He nodded, giving me a flat smile and his profile.

“Goodbye, Martin.”

I paused for a second, waiting for him to say goodbye, but he didn’t. His jaw was set and his eyes were studying his rearview mirror. So I opened the door all the way and climbed out of his fancy car, shut it, and turned to Grand Central station.

I didn’t hear him pull into traffic, but I didn’t look back to check. I’d already spent too much time looking backward.

CHAPTER 3

Concentrations of Solutions

Sam liked to go ’80s dancing on Thursday nights with several of her tennis pals. I’d never gone with her because I had no level of confidence in my non-ballroom dancing skills. But part of my theoretical state included opening myself up to new experiences¸ but not being so open-minded that my brain fell out.

Therefore, on Thursday night when Sam asked me if I wanted to go ’80s dancing, I said yes.

I discovered that club dancing was basically just moving around however the heck I wanted; furthermore, I discovered it was a lot of fun. Sure, weird guys would sometimes sidle up to our cluster and try to cop a feel or insinuate themselves in the circle, especially since girls outnumbered the guys in our group. I quickly learned how to avoid stranger danger behavior by latching on to one of the three male tennis players who tagged along until the uninvited dude moved on.

This worked perfectly until the end of the night when Landon, one of the three tennis guys, asked for my number. I panicked and gave it to him as Sam watched on with an amused smirk.

As soon as we were back in our apartment, Sam started sniggering.

“What?”

“You’re a good dancer,” she said, eyeballing me.

“Thanks…?”

“What did you think of Kara?”

I had to really, really concentrate to remember which of the girls she was referencing. “Was Kara the one with pink hair?”

“No, Kara was the one with the Dungeons and Dragons mini dress.”

“Oh! Kara, yes. I liked her.”

“Well, she’s looking for a place to stay next semester. How do you feel about another roommate?”

“Would we move?”

“Yeah, but I think there’s a three-bedroom becoming available in our building sometime in February.”

I scrunched my face, wrinkling my nose. “Can I think about it? You know how particular I am. Can I meet her a few more times? Hang out? See what she thinks of the chore chart and angry acoustic guitar music?”

“Sure. That makes sense. I’ll set something up after New Year’s.” Sam began eyeballing me again. “Speaking of you being particular—sooooo Landon, huh?”

I gave her a pained look. “I didn’t know how to say no. He’s the first guy in my twenty years on this planet who has ever asked for my number.”