Aria

I glanced at Grant for what had to be the sixth time, but he didn’t look over. His eyes stayed locked on the road, his expression carved from stone, blank, unreadable, the way it always got when he was holding something in.

I wanted to ask.

God, I wanted to ask.

But I didn’t.

I just sat there, picking at the edge of my sleeve, wondering what had ticked him off so badly tonight. Was it me? Did I do something wrong without realizing? Was it the call with Marissa? The way I listened ...