Page 18 of The Ex Puck Bunny
She clicks her tongue. “Are you telling me not to judge a book by its cover? I have no interest in reading your life story.”
Giving my head a shake, I say, “Yeah. Me neither.”
She glances over at me as if detecting something unexpected, frozen beneath the smooth surface of the ice that is my life.
Unfortunately, we hit all of the lights. At the next one, Heidi yawns.
I say, “God bless you.”
“That’s what you say to someone when they sneeze.”
I’m about to explain my reasoning for offering a blessing when someone is tired or bored, resulting in a yawn, but it’s contagious, and I yawn too.
She peers at me and I snap my mouth shut, feeling strangely like we shared an unusually intimate moment. How can a yawn be intimate?
When we pull up to her house on Silver Queen Street, I say, “I went back to the Fish Bowl the other day, and the server said you were never out of potato skin pucks.”
“Oops.”
“Oopsyou made a mistake oroopsyou purposefully told me my favorite thing on the menu wasn’t available.”
She wears a wicked smile.
“That was a bratty thing to do,” I mutter.
“Jerks deserve bratty things,” she counters.
My eyes bulge. “You think I’m a jerk. How did you arrive at that conclusion? Jerks don’t try to get Brats’ cars started and then drive them home.”
“I’ll be sure to remember that next time you’re in the restaurant.”
I frown. “Are you threatening to spit in my food?”
Hand on the doorhandle, she shrugs.
Then I do something that might result in Derek giving me a black eye. I accelerate, driving around the block.
“What are you doing? Where are you going?”
I may regret this later. “I want to know why you despise me. Did I do something in high school and don’t remember or?—?”
She hisses a breath. “You know how there are some people you meet and you’re like, ‘Yeah, they’re going to crack someday. Totally go loco.’ You were not one of those guys, yet now you’re holding me hostage?”
“Glad to know you’d measured my sanity.” On the contrary, I did go loco recently. “I’m not holding you hostage.”
“Then bring me back to my house.”
“I will, but I’d like an explanation.”
“What was that you said about expectations?”
“That’s different.”
“Grady. Bring. Me. Home.”
“I will.” I’m going under twenty miles an hour, but I want to know why she doesn’t like me, so I’m going to prolong this ride until she tells me.
“Now.”
