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Sweatshirts

EMMA.

Quietly, I crossed my arms over my thighs as Alex's driver moved swiftly through the streets. I had no idea where we were headed. I didn't have my phone in hand, and I wasn't comfortable with Alex sitting next to me. I cleared my throat, trying to stifle the silence.

He pulled a bottle of water from the side of his seat, and handed it over to me. I grudgingly received it. As annoyed as I was, I was thirsty. I gulped down the water quickly, causing it to trickle down my sweatshirt. He handed me a tissue.

“I don't need one,” I replied. I wasn't that messed up.

He stashed the tissue in a box.

The ride continued silently. My eyes widened as we arrived at his destination.

“I'm not going in there,” I quickly said. He had said we would be going out for dinner, not to a hotel. I would not be going into a hotel with him again. I had risked a lot for him, but my public face was not one I was willing to take.

“You don't have to. Just sit here, and wait.” He replied, as he pushed the door
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