If Jordan Baker was our Narrator

(passage from p. 57-59)
Nick and I lost touch for a while that summer. After a month or so, we reconnected. Everywhere we went, it was necessary for us to stop every once in awhile to engage in conversation with some person who knew me from one place of another. He never mentioned anything about being annoyed by that, though I expected and waited for it all summer.
At first, it was clear that we hung out on a strictly-friends basis. But he was a boy and I was a girl, and I was sure after some time that it was something more. I even tried to convince myself otherwise, but it became undeniable that there was something there. I found myself looking out for fun things for us to do. At times, I wondered what exactly it was that drew us to each other. It certainly had to be mutual; I wasn't the only one inviting him places. For me, it had to be his honesty and morality. I seem to have a hard time with simple ideas like those. He was everything I wasn't and we balanced each other out.
I wouldn't have called it love at the beginning, but in retrospect, maybe that's what it was. However, it was an innocent, sweet kind; not the tragic kind so many people try not to fall into. A certain day that I remember very clearly since it happened was the day we went to a party in Warwick. There was just something about that day, and this, I knew from the moment I dressed for it.
The night before, Nick and I had had a marvelous conversation about I don't even remember what. I remember that he muttered something about wishing we could continue the conversation when it got far too late and I needed to get home.
"Escort me to this party tomorrow night? It's up in Warwick, and I'll just die if I have to endure it on my own. It'll be a fantastic time if you come with me!" I was trying to be casual.
So we went. We borrowed someone or other's car just to cruise around and talk. I was nervous. I tried particularly hard not to show it, but my driving must have been off because he pointed it out. He wasn't trying to be rude or anything. He was never rude.
"You're a rotten driver. Either you ought to be more careful or you oughtn't drive a all," he told me.
We made a point to be blatantly honest to each other. To an extent.
"I am careful," I lied.
"No, you're not."
It was then I gave in. I let my guard down and said, "Well, other people are."
"What's that go t to do with it?"
"They'll keep out of my way!" I replied. "It takes two to make an accident."
"Suppose you met somebody just as careless as yourself." He was right.
"I hope I never will. I hate careless people. That's why I like you."
He stared at me ten, somewhat in awe if I wasn't mistaken. I shrugged and continued driving. Our friendship took a shift towards romance, then.