Page 58 of The Wild Card
My heart is beating wildly in my chest, a panicked bird behind the cage of my ribs. I’m more nervous now than I was when I could tell I was bombing my interview.
Somehow, more is on the line here. Like, for example, my heart.
Even as I tell myself it’s dumb and my heart should in no way be involved. The center of my emotions would beg to differ with every rapid beat in my chest.
“I think I’d have to go with …”
I search my mind for a word that doesn’t reveal my actual feelings. Or that I want to do this for Collin as much as for myself. Somehow, I just know he wouldn’t like the idea of mefeeling sorry for his situation. It’s not the same as pityinghim, but I don’t think he’d see it that way.
I also don’t need him knowing how I listened in on a whole conversation not meant for my ears.
Leaning forward, I infuse a confidence I don’t feel into my voice. “I think I’d say it’s mutually beneficial.”
“You think?”
I try to remember exactly what Thayden said at breakfast versus what knowledge I unlawfully—or at least unethically—gained just now. But it’s all jumbled up, so I try to keep my answer vague. “Thayden made it sound like this would help you in some way. Would it?”
But Collin is too sharp. “How much did you overhear?”
I guess I need to amend my earlier list of his attributes and addsmartto them.
“Me? I—what?”
“Molly Douglas, for an actress, you make a terrible liar.”
I sag back into the folding chair and cross my arms. “Fine. I overheard a lot. Enough to know this would be helpful to us both.”
Collin goes quiet again but jumps when the bug zapper claims another victim with a loudsnap. He places a hand over his chest and glares at the thing before standing.
He holds out a hand to me. “Wanna go for a drive, Molly-girl?”
I place my hand in his big palm, nodding so I don’t say what I’m thinking, which is that I’d go anywhere he asked.
Which probably makes all of this the worst idea I’ve ever had. Or, depending on how this all shakes out, possibly the best.
The drive ends up taking us out of Sheet Cake and out into the surrounding countryside. Collin rolls the windows down and keeps the music on low, some kind of very chill Americana. Not quite country, but a little more acoustic folk with banjos and mandolins. He hums along, and I’d go out on a limb and guess he’s got a really nice singing voice.
I have yet to find a negative about him. If I want to be nitpicky, I’d say that his truck is too clean. Immaculate, really, which I didn’t notice when I rode with him before. I was too caught up being nervous about the lunch with Brightmark.
“Are you some kind of minimalist?” I accuse, and he chokes out a laugh, giving me a sideways glance.
“What now?”
I gesture to the dashboard, which doesn’t have the layer of dust my car back in Kansas does.
Side note: I’m going to have to consider what to do about a car now that I’m staying in Texas. I can’t go back for it, or my father would find some way of sabotaging me leaving again.
“Your car,” I tell him. “It’s too clean. And your room—the one I stayed in at the loft—had almost nothing in it. I’m just wondering if you’re a minimalist or just a total neat freak.”
“You say both of those like they’re bad things. First of all, the loft is my dad’s. I just stay in the guest room when I’m in town, like this week.”
“Mm-hm.” I lean forward and open the glove box. I pull out the only thing inside and hold it up. “I just don’t know how I can trust a person who only keeps the car manual in their glove box.”
“What do you keep in your glove compartment?”
“That’s a very personal question, Collin Graham.”
“That’s Mr. Biceps to you.”
