Page 33 of Counterfeit Boyfriend
“Breakfast is almost over, so I’ll go grab us what I can while you shower, and then we better push off so we can make all of today’s stops.”
Never before had he cared about schedules, and while he’d acted more psyched about our sight-seeing than expected, something still didn’t add up. Maybe my hair and breath were even worse than I’d imagined.
The quiet hung heavy as soon as the door closed behind him. Since I didn’t know what to do about that, I rushed through a shower, dressed, and braided my wet hair. Since we were already thirty-minutes behind my original scheduled departure time, I kept my makeup minimal and rushed through packing up.
Evan came back with a handful of pastries and fruit. “I made sure there’s nothing with peanuts—as in I asked until the manager looked like she was going to strangle me, but you might want to read the labels to be doubly safe. Also, where is your EpiPen?”
“In my purse. But like I said, the side effects of having to use it suck, and if it’s only a mild attack, it’s much too expens—”
The stern look he shot me cut off the rest of my sentence. Then he gathered our suitcases and started for the door.
Confusion set in. One minute he would be flirty, and then he was distant, but then he was also worried about my allergies and overall health, and I could tell it was more than worrying he’d have to cart me to the hospital.
Maybe we just weren’t in the same place, though.
Here I’d gone all in, and he was still holding back.
* * *
The first hundred miles passed in relative silence, save the radio—his choice—and it wasn’t the comfortable silence. Not that I ever really found not-talking comfortable, but this was on a whole new level.
“Did you need me to drive?” I asked.
Evan glanced at me, almost as if he’d forgotten I was there. Obviously I’d interrupted some intense thinking.
My throat tightened. “Are you okay?”
“Worried I’m going to turn rabid since I haven’t had my shots?” he asked, and then he cracked a smile that appeared a bit on the forced side, but he was clearly trying.
“Totally. But in my defense, you’re foaming at the mouth a little.”
A laugh burst free and the sound sent hope rushing in. Tomorrow was going to be hard enough with the wedding, and beyond that, my attachment to the guy next to me had grown by leaps and bounds over the past couple of days. Funny how scared I was to lose something I’d nearly ended myself.
“Guess I could use a soda.” He peered over the top of his sunglasses. “You?”
“Sounds good. My coffee was… special.”
“And byspecialyou mean?”
“Gross, oddly thick, and disappointingly short on caffeine.”
“Well, that simply won’t do. I need your hyped-up chatter to keep me going.”
“So you do…” I almost chickened out, but I couldn’t simply stifle myself in hopes he’d realize he liked me as much as I liked him. “You do want me to talk?”
Two creases showed up between his eyebrows. “Of course. I thought… I was… I’m sorry.”
The seatbelt cut into my neck as I twisted toward him and I tugged it away from me. “Sorry for what?”
He sighed and then muttered, “Where to begin?”
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I feel like you’re suddenly a brick house that’s talking in code.”
“That’s… a statement that’s hard to take the wrong way. First I’d have to figure out the meaning.”
I gave his arm a light shove, and he readjusted his grip on the steering wheel and lowered a hand to my knee. Immediately, I placed my hand over his, wanting to keep it there. Wanting it to mean we were good, in spite of sensing something was still off.
Evan took the exit after the sign that bragged about its attractions, and I wasn’t sure how to take the fact that 7-11 was listed alongside Stonewall Jackson’s house. Unless the 7-11 had a fossil of something besides ancient nachos inside, “attraction” seemed like a stretch.
