Page 19 of Wild Love
“Fine.” She sits up and stretches, sticking her boobs out in the process. “Where are we?”
“I don’t know. All these small towns look the same.” I pull into the parking lot of a fast-food restaurant and kill the engine.
As soon as I open the door, the air outside takes my breath away. “The humidity is killer. I always forget.”
“Oh right, you grew up in Chicago. Arizona suits you so well.” She gives her head a little shake. “Actually, scratch that. I think you could fit in anywhere.”
“I’m choosing to take that as a compliment.”
We walk Charli around in a grassy area between businesses. Dakota sits as if we haven’t been doing that all day.
“What exactly did you girls get into last night? I can’t remember ever seeing you this hungover.”
“Shots. So many shots. We swore our loyalties to one another by dancing our hearts out and drinking Rumple Minze.”
“Girls are weird.”
She nods. “What’d you guys do?”
“Played Xbox and ate four large pizzas.”
She snort-laughs and then stops and holds her stomach. “Did you hear that? My stomach just growled. I think it’s finally awake.”
“And wants pizza.”
“That does sound good.” She bites the corner of her lip. “There’s this really great pizza place in my hometown.”
“All right. Let’s load back up then because I am ravenous.”
When we get back on the highway, Kota is more alert and plays with the music while I drive.
“I’m going to let my dad know we’re getting close.”
“What are your parents like?”
She hesitates. “They’re great. It’s just my dad and me now. My mom died when I was fifteen.”
“I had no idea. I’m sorry.” A heavy feeling settles in the bottom of my stomach.
“It’s okay. I mean. I don’t know. I never know how to respond to that. Thank you?” She smiles.
It occurs to me that for as much time as I’ve spent with Dakota, hanging out, partying, joking around, I don’t know that much about her. And I want to. “What does your dad do?”
“He’s a firefighter.”
“Badass.”
“Technically, he’s my stepdad, but he married my mom when I was five, so he’s just Dad.”
“And your real dad?”
“Realdad.” She rolls her eyes. “He wasn’t really into the family thing. He popped in occasionally when I was younger. I get a birthday card and a call on Christmas.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No, don’t be. Be sorry that my awesome mother died if you want, but not that my sperm donor isn’t part of my life. Some people just weren’t meant to be parents. My real dad is one of those.”
I wonder if my parents fit that criterion. They always made sure I had what I needed, but they were never very interested in doing the traditional parent activities like spending time together.
