Page 57 of Reading Between the Lines
We returned to the Jeep, and I drove back into town, taking the first bridge that crossed the Ganaraska, then turned north, returning to the location opposite where we’d been. The scenery on this side of the river was vastly different. No run-down houses. No trailer park. No rusted-out vehicles abandoned beside dilapidated sheds.
Before long, we discovered a sign marking the head of a public trail, along with a gravel parking area wide enough to accommodate three vehicles. The spots were nestled against the tree line, blocking our view of the river.
The Jeep had no company that morning. We were the only ones stupid enough to hike after an ice storm.
Tallus had spent the drive using a tissue to wipe muck off his loafers, grumbling about ruined leather and having to visit some guy named Antoine, who was supposedly a fuck friend of Memphis’s. I didn’t pay attention. He was wasting his time trying to salvage his shoes, considering where we were headed. I told him as much, and he whimpered when we landed at the trailhead and were met by a flooded, mucky path only partly iced over.
“Noooo. Guns, I can’t. I liked these shoes, and they won’t survive.”
“Then wait in the Jeep.”
“But I want to come.”
“Then come.”
“But my shoes.”
My chest rumbled. “It’s a sacrifice, Tallus. Buy new ones when we get home.”
“I can’t afford new ones.”
When I didn’t respond because I hated fighting in circles, he huffed. “That’s it? That’s all you’ve got?”
Confused, I nodded and shrugged. “What the fuck do you want me to say?”
“Guns, as my boyfriend, it is your job to coddle me when I’m having emotions.”
I blinked and stared, my confusion deepening.
“I’m having emotions,” he clarified, tapping his chest. “My heart hurts. I’m sad. This is a sad face.” He exaggerated the pout, circling the expression with a finger.
“Because of shoes?”
“Yes. Hug me. Tell me everything is going to be okay. Tell me the Versace at Sylvester Robbs will be ninety percent off when I get home because thirteen hundred dollars is not in my budget, and I want to be an investigator, so I can’t stay behind.”
“I… I don’t know what Versace is, but if it’s shoes, that’s way too much money. You can get at least ten pairs at Walmart for that price.”
“Not the right answer, Guns.”
Shifting my weight, I glanced along the path, searching for the right answer. What the fuck was the right answer? Hug him? That’s what he said. “I… don’t hug. It’s not a… thing I do… very well… or often.”
“Diem Krause, that is a pre-dating excuse. It will not fly. We are boyfriends now and huggingwasin the contract. Hug me, goddammit. Coddle my emotions.” If the ground hadn’t been treacherous, I was certain he’d have stamped a foot.
I snarled—it was expected under the circumstances—and reached out mechanically to pat the top of his head. “There, there.”
Tallus’s brow rose to his hairline, and any attempt at pouting vanished as he gawped. “I seriously hope you’re joking right now. You didnotjust pat me on the head.”
I couldn’t withhold the smile, and Tallus pointed at my face. “Ha! I knew it. You’re getting dangerously good at that comedy thing. I’d almost think you grew a sense of humor in the last six weeks. Now hug me for real.”
Floundering and feeling ten kinds of awkward, I drew Tallus against my chest. We’d practiced this plenty in the past six weeks. Tallus was a hugger.
He sighed and wrapped his arms around me.
I rested my chin on his head and closed my eyes, rocking us gently side to side. “Like this?” I asked.
“Exactly like this. You’re improving. Way less mechanical than the first time.” He buried his nose in my chest. “And you are so warm I want to crawl inside your shirt and nest in your chest hair.”
I chuckled, and Tallus squeezed me tighter. “It’s good, D.”
