Noticing the way his gaze trickles down towards her shoes, she follows suit and smiles out of embarrassment, “My feet were hurting.” Realizing he hadn’t seen her before this moment, she felt the need to elaborate with a clear of her throat, “I did come in some heels, but I just couldn’t do it anymore.” Anyone who knew Romy knew that heels just weren’t her thing. During her time with the band, she often attended many events and shows wearing the same ol’ beat down pair of Converse. And whenever she was forced to wear heels, well, it wouldn’t take long for her to shake them off and give them to one of the guys to hold. Which, more often than not, it was Victor who always seemed to look out for her.
Her brows furrow together in confusion at his response, and she can’t help but respond with the same type of tone, “Yes?” Of course it wasn’t a question, it was merely said as a way to double check and make sure he really was okay with it. But it didn’t dawn on her until then that the ride back was at least an hour tops, if they were to manage avoiding any unseen obstacles.
And if she was being honest with herself, the car ride back could go one or two ways. The first being they resolve any unspoken awkwardness between them, and reinstate their ’best friends’ title. Or, they completely ignore each other for the duration of the ride and discuss absolutely nothing – she had her fingers crossed for the former. And of course Romy understands it is a big favor to ask of someone she still hasn’t mended things with – if there even was anything to mend – but the way they had embraced each other at her grandfather’s memorial only aided in her comfortability to ask.
But with a knack for brushing situations underneath the rug, and pretend like everything was right as rain, Romy hoped the New York debacle would just completely dissipate in front of their eyes.
“Were you ready to go now, or…?”
With her tongue pressed up against the inside of her lip, she nods her head, “Yup. If –” she glances between him and the woman,who was now gulping down rather large sips of water, and gingerly smiles, “ – if you’re okay with now?"
He hadn’t meant to get caught staring. Truthfully, Victor hadn’t even registered that he had been until Romy herself had taken notice, feet flexing in her signature beat up sneakers. An almost embarrassed smile overtakes his lips, curls bouncing with the shake of his head. She definitely didn’t owe him an explanation. Besides, the look was so incredibly Romy, that that was the only explanation he really needed. He’d been handed her high heels at more than enough red carpets to know that her tolerance for them was relatively low.
“It’s a look. Really.” Though his tone was teasing, his eyes dropped, just for a moment, back to the black ensemble. There were no words to describe how she looked in it.
He quickly tried to vanquish the thought from his mind, but once the memory of that night infiltrated his brain, there was seldom he could do to get rid of it. The press of her lips against his, the way she moved underneath him, the sounds she’d made...
His embarrassment displayed on his cheeks, the red creeping up his skin, though luckily (or maybe not so) he could pass it off onto the conversation they were currently having rather than the dream living in his head. “No. I mean, yes...of course I’ll give you a ride.” Quickly, he amended, “home. A ride home.” As if there’d been a need for clarification.
God, he was already screwing this all up. It wasn’t supposed to be like this with Romy. She was his best friend. There’d been nothing he felt like he couldn’t tell her (save for maybe one thing), and now they stood across from one another like total strangers. The band breaking up had sucked, there was no denying it, but even in moments where Victor had thought of it happening, he never had imagined he’d have lost her completely. That was the worst part of it all.
“Now’s good.” Remembering his previous task, Victor spared a look over towards the drunken woman, who waved him off with a brush of her hand, encouraging him to go. A small part of him almost wished that she hadn’t, that she’d required his assistance for a few more minutes, but ultimately knew he’d only be prolonging the inevitable.
The walk to the car was done in awkward near silence. Conversation flowed in awkward politeness--how’s your night?, wow, it’s really coming down, bid on anything good?, no, me neither--and extended towards them clambering inside Victor’s mother’s car. The saving grace was, of course, the radio, which came to life at a roaring volume the minute the key was stuck in the ignition.
Victor scrambled to turn it down to a reasonable volume. “Sorry.” He huffed the apology, his breath visible even inside the car.