Page 98 of Lovetown, USA
Heh. Irony.
He hops out to open the passenger door for me, pecking my lips before he relieves me of my bag.
Inside, he doesn’t drive off. Instead, he looks at me curiously, his jaw tight.
“You okay?”
“I’m fine,” I say. “Just had a weird experience.”
“Yeah, I figured something happened.” His eyes rake over me, quickly assessing. “What’s going on?”
I tell him about the Ubers. The heckler. The librarian’s brush-off. I must still be shaken up, because my voice trembles, which embarrasses me.
Trey listens, his jaw getting tighter with every passing moment. Finally, when I’m quiet, he nods to himself, his expression unreadable. “I wonder if somebody around here is upset about what you’re writing.”
My pulse spikes. I grin, defiant as ever. “You shouldn’t have told me that. Now you got me fired up.”
He doesn’t appear to share my enthusiasm. “Is it worth it?” he asks.
“Yes.” No hesitation. “This is what I do. It’s my purpose, like medicine is for you. And I’ve worked on way more hard-hitting stories than this. It’s nothing. It’s child’s play here.”
His lips tighten a bit as he looks over me again. “I just don’t want you getting backlash. You should be able to call a fucking Uber and not be treated like shit at the goddamn library.” He glances at the entrance. “Matter of fact—“
“Stop.” I put a hand on his arm before he unbuckles his seatbelt. “I can handle myself. I’m strong.” I smile at him. “Besides, I know you won’t let anybody hurt me.”
He grabs my hand, lacing his fingers through mine. “I’m glad you know that.”
I nod. “How wasyourday?”
He exhales, long and heavy. “Same old. But I got a few more things approved. Clinic’s moving forward.”
I slide over a bit, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, kissing his cheek. His stubble grazes my lips. “I’m so proud of you. Making your dream come true. That’s big. And you were just complaining the other day. Now look.”
He swallows hard, his eyes fixed straight ahead. “I appreciate it.”
Then he starts puts the car in drive and pulls off, leaving me confused.
Again.
33
Trey
Landry doesn’t mince words.
“Jury selection starts soon,” he says flatly like he’s telling me the weather report. “We need to prepare for trial.”
My chest tightens. A jury. Of my peers. Who are gonna assess and dissect every intimate detail of my personal life, weighing my character, measuring me against a moment of weakness at a vulnerable time in my life.
It is what it is.
“I’ll be ready,” I say. “I have no choice.”
“Well…” Landry trails off. “You know you have options.”
“Absolutely not,” I insist. “I’m not taking a fucking plea. How many times do I have to say it?”
“You wouldn’t be getting your money’s worth if I didn’t give you the choice, alright? But if you wanna fight, then we fight.”
