Page 28 of Loaded

“I mean, clearly it doesn’t to you, but if the person you’re here with isn’t embarrassed, and you’re covering the relevant parts of your body to be decent in public, then you shouldn’t let them drag you.”

“I’m not their mother.” I snatch the bag and walk toward his 4Runner. “It’s not my job to teach them anything. I take the path of least resistance when I’m in situations like that.”

“Noted.”

“Wait.” I stop at the car door, my hand already on the handle. “What’s noted?”

“That you prefer to ignore rude people, rather than confront them.”

“It’s not like we’ll be going to Cornell’s often.”

“Well, I’m not sure about that,” Easton says. “My sister’s shelter is a bit of a mess, even after the remodel. We may bump into each other a lot in the next decade.”

I can’t help laughing about that, because it’s true. Things there break a lot, which is the nature of a place that has people flowing through it constantly. It’s probably even more true of places that take in animals.

“It looks like they’re just as shameless about using you as they are with me.”

“Only when they can’t get a plumber on the line,” I say.

“Actually, they’ve never called me to help before,” Easton says. “I was telling Elizabeth this morning that I had a crush on you, and she said that the next time she saw you, she’d text and tell me to rush over.”

I freeze.

Easton’s eyes are steady on mine.

I blink. “You—you’re kidding.”

He smiles. “Of course I am.” He unlocks the car, and this time, he lets me open my own, but he doesn’t walk around to his side until I’ve closed my door.

On the way back to the shelter, he’s totally normal—no jokes.

Part of me wonders whether I imagined the flirting, but it’s happened too many times now. So when he pulls into a parking spot and cuts the engine, I break the silence. “Easton.”

He turns toward me, a half-smile tugging on the edges of his mouth. “Beatrice.”

“No one calls me that,” I snap.

“Why not? It’s pretty.”

“Let me rephrase. Only my mother and my grandfather call me that, and I hate it.”

“Bea it is,” he says. “Sorry to have stepped on that landmine.”

“It’s fine.” It’s really weird I even told him that. Usually I just cringe and ignore it. Always, actually. Ialwayscringe and let it go.

“My parents call me Eastie whenever they want something. It may not be the same, but I hate that, too. I’m not three years old.”

“Do your parents ask you for stuff a lot?”

“Like fixing toilets, you mean?” he asks.

I shrug. “Sure.”

“Not really. They do ask me for money pretty often. Always have.”

“Usually I think it goes the other way, but mine was always asking me, too.” My mom took any two dimes I managed to rub together as a kid, so I guess I get it. Butonce I got older and had a job, she was downright hostile and persistent. “You should shut that down fast.”

“What?” Easton frowns. “Shut what down?”

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