Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 84952 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84952 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
“Again, I wouldn’t know. It wasn’t included in the three things you shared with me.”
“I don’t want you to die,” he says, humoring me. “And my birthday is April fifth.”
I grin smugly. “That’s a start.”
His shoulders relax, and his grip eases on the steering wheel. I bet it’s because he thinks I’m distracted from the original topic. But as he silently revels in his assumed victory, I plot my pivot.
“But we still aren’t friends?” I ask, easing my way back in.
“All right. Fine,” he says as though it pains him. “We’re friends. Does that make you happy?”
I shrug. “I was happy before. Our friendship status has no bearing on my happiness.”
“Then why are you so dramatic about all this?” he asks with a laugh.
“I’m not.”
“Oh, my god.” His mouth falls open, and his head hangs forward in exasperation.
It’s my turn to laugh. “I was just trying to get to know my new friend like a normal person.”
“People know too much about each other. There’s no mystery anymore.”
“I disagree. I think knowing things about other people helps you connect.”
He glances at me, eyeing me suspiciously. “Maybe some people don’t want to connect.”
Sitting up, I look at him like he’s crazy. The sudden movement causes him to flinch.
“Why would someone not want to connect with other people?” I say, holding my hands out. “That’s … lonely, cold, and a terrible way to live.”
“Maybe for you.”
He can’t really think that. That can’t be his actual truth.
I rest my head on the seat again and wait for him to continue, to finish off the thought that feels incredibly incomplete. Much to my surprise, he simply reaches over and turns the radio back on.
I reach up and snap it off.
“Dammit, Hollis,” I say, frustration thick in my voice.
He looks at me in disbelief. “Did you just turn off my radio?”
“Yes. I did.”
“Why?”
“Talk to me,” I plead.
“I don’t want to talk to you,” he says, mocking the whine in my voice.
I narrow my eyes. “Maybe I don’t want to talk to you now either, asshole.”
He laughs, and his easy way about him has returned. “Yes, you do,” he teases.
“Oh. You want me to want to talk to you. That’s the problem, isn’t it?” I say, only half-kidding.
I felt the way his body relaxed when I touched his leg at the Landry’s. His entire body sort of stilled. It was remarkable. I realized at that moment that he might not want that sort of invasion of his privacy—because I’m pretty sure that’s how he’ll see it if prompted—but maybe he needs it. Perhaps it’s good for him.
He shakes his head at my theory.
“Not everyone wants to be an open book, you know?” he asks as we swerve around a pothole.
“No. I don’t know. I am an open book.”
“I gathered,” he mumbles.
The lights along the highway bounce inside the cab. Hollis shifts in his seat and rests his left elbow next to the window, toying with his bottom lip.
The wrinkle is back around his eyes, but he’s not frowning anymore. I take that as a good sign.
Finally, he looks at me again. His eyes are warm but still guarded.
“I think you’re a nice person,” he says.
“You think?”
“Yeah, I think,” he says.
“Gee, thanks.”
“What?” He laughs. “That’s more credit than I give most people. I usually shut down women well before it even makes it to this stage of the game.”
“Someone really burned you, didn’t they?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.
He narrows his back at me. He pauses before pulling his attention back to the road. “Yes. They did.”
“You know, last night, I’d basically lumped all men—all athletes, no less—into one group. And after spending time with Lincoln tonight, and you, I guess,” I say, rushing over the last part, “I feel as though that lens prescription isn’t totally accurate. Maybe you’ve lumped women into a similar kind of box.” I force a swallow. “That’s not fair—to them or you.”
I flop back against my seat and stare through the windshield.
We drive along the highway until we get to my exit. When his GPS instructs him to, he takes the off-ramp. The sound of the automated voice is the only thing that breaks the silence.
The car rides smoothly onto the side street, the rumble of the muffler hypnotic. I think about what tomorrow’s conversation might sound like after Hollis meets my mom and Jack.
Instead of Hollis being the commonality amongst the group like tonight, it will be me tomorrow. He will be the one hearing things and learning things; he will be the one with questions.
If he wants to know more about me but, right now, I’m not convinced he does.
Which is fine. It’s fine, Riss. Cut him some slack.
“If it makes you feel any better,” I tell him, “there will be less time for me to ask you questions tomorrow night. It’s going to be so loud and so chaotic.”