he’s talking to me. Reading at a third-grade level would bother anyone above third grade, nosy bastard. And I’m about to tell him so, but Milo’s gaze drifts to Shay before he looks back at the road.
“Does what bother me?” she asks, flipping a page in her notebook.
“Being the Elmo Girl.”
“Oh.” She taps her pen against her paper. “No. It’s fine.”
Always fine.
“You keep saying that word,” I quote from
The Princess Bride
. “I do not think it means what you think it means.”
“Best movie ever.” Milo grins. “Also a meme.”
Shay takes her glasses off and cleans them with the bottom of her baggy shirt. “It’s
fine
. It’s just hard sometimes to be taken seriously at work.”
I’ve always thought of that meme as a kind of cool thing—something to talk about on dates or share with friends, but making work harder? I’d never thought about it like that. (Probably because I’m so self-absorbed.)
“Does everyone quote it to you?” I ask, my chest doing some tense tightening shit I can’t seem to control. I really shouldn’t feel so worried for a girl I dish out so much shit to.
Her eyes catch mine briefly before she slips her glasses back on her face. I don’t know how I didn’t notice before…but Shay wears red a lot. Red looks good on her. Even in the form of old-lady frames. She tugs on the shirt she’s wearing—not red, because it’s mine—and bundles it up so it’s not hanging so loosely on her. The outline of her curves reminds me of how she felt during the very wet piggyback ride. How warm and fuzzy and shit. Something pushes up into my throat, pounding and making it hard to breathe.
“Not everyone,” she says. Her cheeks blossom red, and damn, even
natural
red looks amazing on her.
“You talking about me?” I ask, pointing stupidly at myself. My throat is definitely closed off. Like acid reflux…even though I haven’t eaten anything. Must be a different form of hunger pangs.
She bites her bottom lip slightly, then I swear I see her whisper something to herself. Her nervous expression relaxes into one of merciless teasing.
“Yes,
dumb-ass
,” she says, taking all the scary sentiment out of the situation and making me laugh. Good. I know what sexual tension is, and I don’t need to be feeling it with Miss Unlikely. And I’m pretty sure she doesn’t want to feel it with me.
But I can’t help but notice the extra beats in my pulse when I catch the corner of her mouth twitch upward as she turns to look at the road in front of us. Damn, I need to get to Alabama fast.
3:18 P.M.
“We got about ten minutes while I fill the tank,” Milo tells us as he pulls off the highway.
Shay lets out a wheezing breath of relief, bouncing somewhat in the front seat. She’s been crossing her legs so tight I thought for a minute there she’d snap her pelvic bone.
Milo pulls into a run-down rest stop, but it has a toilet, so when the truck comes to an almost stop, Shay pushes the door open and takes a ninja leap onto the asphalt.
“Watch that ankle!” I shout at her retreating figure. Damn girl is going to hurt herself again. Milo opens his door and whistles for Truffles, then tosses a few bucks at me.
“Get something to eat. I bet people in China can hear your stomach.”
I scoot toward the door without reaching for it. Milo shakes his head and pulls on my sleeve.
“Whoa, what the hell?” I say, flying across the seats. I know the guy is about twice my size, but he handles me like Play-Doh. Glad Shay doesn’t witness it. I’d never hear the end of it.
“Take the money. Get something for you and Shay. And I want a giant Code Red Mountain Dew.”
“All right, all right, handsy,” I joke, and he lets go of my sleeve and smooths it out. Truffles barks and growls at him because little dude has got my back.
Milo tosses his hands in the air and says, “Whose side are you on?”
The cash crackles in my hand, and I stuff it into my pocket before hopping
“Does what bother me?” she asks, flipping a page in her notebook.
“Being the Elmo Girl.”
“Oh.” She taps her pen against her paper. “No. It’s fine.”
Always fine.
“You keep saying that word,” I quote from
The Princess Bride
. “I do not think it means what you think it means.”
“Best movie ever.” Milo grins. “Also a meme.”
Shay takes her glasses off and cleans them with the bottom of her baggy shirt. “It’s
fine
. It’s just hard sometimes to be taken seriously at work.”
I’ve always thought of that meme as a kind of cool thing—something to talk about on dates or share with friends, but making work harder? I’d never thought about it like that. (Probably because I’m so self-absorbed.)
“Does everyone quote it to you?” I ask, my chest doing some tense tightening shit I can’t seem to control. I really shouldn’t feel so worried for a girl I dish out so much shit to.
Her eyes catch mine briefly before she slips her glasses back on her face. I don’t know how I didn’t notice before…but Shay wears red a lot. Red looks good on her. Even in the form of old-lady frames. She tugs on the shirt she’s wearing—not red, because it’s mine—and bundles it up so it’s not hanging so loosely on her. The outline of her curves reminds me of how she felt during the very wet piggyback ride. How warm and fuzzy and shit. Something pushes up into my throat, pounding and making it hard to breathe.
“Not everyone,” she says. Her cheeks blossom red, and damn, even
natural
red looks amazing on her.
“You talking about me?” I ask, pointing stupidly at myself. My throat is definitely closed off. Like acid reflux…even though I haven’t eaten anything. Must be a different form of hunger pangs.
She bites her bottom lip slightly, then I swear I see her whisper something to herself. Her nervous expression relaxes into one of merciless teasing.
“Yes,
dumb-ass
,” she says, taking all the scary sentiment out of the situation and making me laugh. Good. I know what sexual tension is, and I don’t need to be feeling it with Miss Unlikely. And I’m pretty sure she doesn’t want to feel it with me.
But I can’t help but notice the extra beats in my pulse when I catch the corner of her mouth twitch upward as she turns to look at the road in front of us. Damn, I need to get to Alabama fast.
3:18 P.M.
“We got about ten minutes while I fill the tank,” Milo tells us as he pulls off the highway.
Shay lets out a wheezing breath of relief, bouncing somewhat in the front seat. She’s been crossing her legs so tight I thought for a minute there she’d snap her pelvic bone.
Milo pulls into a run-down rest stop, but it has a toilet, so when the truck comes to an almost stop, Shay pushes the door open and takes a ninja leap onto the asphalt.
“Watch that ankle!” I shout at her retreating figure. Damn girl is going to hurt herself again. Milo opens his door and whistles for Truffles, then tosses a few bucks at me.
“Get something to eat. I bet people in China can hear your stomach.”
I scoot toward the door without reaching for it. Milo shakes his head and pulls on my sleeve.
“Whoa, what the hell?” I say, flying across the seats. I know the guy is about twice my size, but he handles me like Play-Doh. Glad Shay doesn’t witness it. I’d never hear the end of it.
“Take the money. Get something for you and Shay. And I want a giant Code Red Mountain Dew.”
“All right, all right, handsy,” I joke, and he lets go of my sleeve and smooths it out. Truffles barks and growls at him because little dude has got my back.
Milo tosses his hands in the air and says, “Whose side are you on?”
The cash crackles in my hand, and I stuff it into my pocket before hopping
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