Page 14 of The Wild Card
He jogs to the back of the truck, grabs the stuffed animal, and deposits it into my hands.
“Happy now?” he asks, and the question seems weighted.
I nod, though I’m not sure happy describes my current mood. More like anxious and flighty. But holding a giant stuffed unicorn oddly does help.
We walk inside, and he splays his palm over my lower back, warm through the fabric of my cotton dress as he guides me into the building.
“Which way?” he asks, again leaning close enough for his words to brush my skin.
“I’m not sure, actually.” I’m sure ofverylittle, other than a growing suspicion this plan—and this man—are a terrible idea.
“In that case, I guess we should just follow the noise. Come on.”
With steady pressure on my back, he urges me forward through the empty lobby and toward a hallway where I hear a tangle of voices. My whole body feels suddenly tight, like I’ve been placed in one of those car compactor things and it’s slowly pressing me into a pancake.
I slow my steps, clutching the unicorn to my chest. “Maybe this is a bad idea.”
“Probably,” he agrees, sounding almost cheerful as he continues urging me forward.
He really does have big hands. When I try to turn, his hand finds my hip and he marches us both toward the open door. The farther down the hallway we go, the more urging I need.
“Let’s go back,” I suggest, fighting against his grip. He squeezes my hip and okay—I don’t like this idea anymore, but Idolike his touch. Even when he’s basically shoving me toward my own bad idea I no longer want to claim.
“But you said you really needed the job, right?”
“Yeah …”
“Then we’ve got this, sunshine.”
Oddly, this statement makes me feel better. I think it’s thewe.We’vegot this. Not just me, all by myself, floundering and fumbling my way through a mistake. Which is how most of my life feels.
“Sugar, sweetheart, sunshine—are you really into nicknames?” I ask.
“I’m just trying to land on the perfect one for you, darlin’.” We reach the door, and I don’t get a chance to hesitate at thesight of the full room because he steers me forward. “That,” he adds, his lips brushing my ear, “and you haven’t told me your actual name.”
I haven’t. He’s right. The nervous flutters turn into anxious earthquakes. Because I realize that I don’t know his name either.
I’ve got my mouth open to remedy thiscolossaloversight of mine when a voice calls my name from inside the room.
“Molly! Glad you could make it.”
I glance up to see Kelvin seated at a mostly-full conference table where people are already eating. A table along one wall has a spread of individually wrapped sandwiches, chips, and drinks. Kelvin stands and heads our way.
“Now you know my name,” I say under my breath. “Your turn.”
“Nope,” he says, his dark chuckle against my neck making me shiver. “I think this will be fun.”
“Fun for whom?” I mutter. This doesnotbode well for my ability to sell this relationship as real.
“Kelvin,” I say, forcing a smile as he reaches us. “Good to see you again.”
“And you brought your boyfriend, I see.” He laughs. “He won you a giant stuffed animal after all. Classic.”
“I did bring …him. Them.”
I wiggle the unicorn I’m clutching, like this will somehow shake loose Mr. Biceps’s name like coins from a piggy bank. I’m about to do the kind of halfway introduction where you only use the name of the person you do remember when Kelvin does a double take and his mouth falls open.
“Whoa,” he says. “You didn’t mention who your boyfriend is. Okay. Wow. And I have to respect that you didn’t try to use this connection to land the job.”
