Ralph Calloway

The last school bell rang, signalling the end of the day, and all of the students ran to the carpark, thankful to get home and away from stress. I found it amusing as we went to a good school and our parents paid good money for us to go there, that they just dismissed. I tried my best in school as I want to be a fashion designer, big hopes, I know. But everyone thinks I can do it and so can I.

Walking out the front gate, my heart drops. I don't see my fathers range rover parked in his normal park, but instead a black Mustang. Weird, I think I've seen that car before but I honestly don't know much about them. That one looked expensive. Reaching for my phone, I call my dad and he picks up on the second ring. “Hello, darling. Something came up, and I had to stay in the office, you know how it is. But I called for backup. Ralph is picking you up today. Stay safe, got to go, love you darling.” Before I could get a word out, he hung up. I stayed standing on the grass hill with the students waiting for their parents who were arriving later. Where was Ralph?

As if on cue, he walks out of his car, my father's spot -of course, and walks towards me. I walk past him to his car, and he grabs my bag, taking it for me.

Ralph and I had a complicated relationship. It felt way too intimate for the position we were both in. And yet sometimes it was like we hated each other, the times we weren't subtly flirting. I wasn't in denial, I knew there were a billion things wrong with this. Which just made me want it more. I guess the saying, you want what you don't have is true. He was beautiful. Not the hot way, the stunning way. His eyes, sharp, his jawline, sharper. He was a goddess. I think I could grate cheese with his abs. Every time I would swim at his house when I was little, I couldn't help but always look. From a very early age I knew what I wanted.

I open the passenger door and sit in the strangely low back car seat. Wow, okay, he wanted to play that game. He knew I would always play coy, but I wasn't dumb. He had someone in here. He gets in after me, hands on the wheel, biceps about to burst out of his suit blazer. I don't look at him and put my seatbelt on.

I sit back, arms crossed. I could see him checking me out as he pulled out to the main road. The car engine makes the car vibrate, and I clench my thighs tighter. I was a mess. I couldn't help it around him most of the time. I wanted to die; my dad could have given me a heads-up so I had time to prepare. God this was going to be a long ride. We stopped at a red light. The world outside continued, oblivious. Inside the Mustang, the air grew thick, sweetened by his cologne, something dark and woody. My earlier bravado was crumbling. I uncrossed my arms, letting my hands rest in my lap, hyper-aware of every point where the leather seat touched me. His hand left the gearshift and came to rest on the centre console, inches from my thigh. A simple, idle move. It screamed intention.

For the next few miles, we didn’t speak. The silence wasn’t empty; it was full of everything we never said. The memories of poolside glances that lasted too long, the accidental touches that felt like brandings, the heated arguments that always bordered on something else. My dad’s best friend. My godfather, for heaven’s sake. The list of reasons this was wrong scrolled through my mind, each one making my heart pound harder against my ribs.

He took a turn off the main route, onto a quieter, tree-lined road that led towards the hills, the longer way home. “What are you doing?” I asked, finally turning to face him. He glanced at me, and in that split second, all the playful ambiguity was gone. His gaze was intense, direct. “Buying time.” The raw honesty of it stole my breath. All my coy pretence evaporated. “Ralph...”

“I know,” he said softly, his eyes back on the winding road. “I know exactly what I’m doing, and I know exactly how wrong it is.” His hand finally moved, but only to adjust the climate control. A futile gesture. The heat in the car had nothing to do with the thermostat. He pulled over at a scenic overlook, a place where the city sprawled below like a glittering tapestry. He killed the engine, and the sudden quiet was deafening. The only sound was our breathing. “This is a bad idea,” I said, the words tasting like a lie. “The worst,” he agreed, unfastening his seatbelt and turning toward me. His expression was a war of longing and regret. “Tell me to take you home. Right now. And I will. I’ll never mention this again.”