Page 15 of Driving Me Mad (Sanity 1)

Chuckling, mostly to distract myself from the heat of her hand, I say, “Your secret can’t piggy-back off of mine. Tell me another.”

She removes her hand and eats more while she thinks. Brittany has done a ton of growing up since she left for college. There’s a confidence, intelligence, and maturity to her beauty. Her black hair is wavy and hangs to mid-back. Her dark brown eyes complement her pink lips that widen into such a beautiful smile. She could kill with a smile like that.

Brittany catches me watching her and giggles. “You probably know almost all of my secrets.”

She could be onto something there. “Then tell me a normal, everyday type of thing about you that I wouldn’t know.”

She thinks for a bit and settles on, “I love fried pickles. Like, they should be an entrée, not an appetizer because that’s how much I love them.”

“They are good,” I agree. “What else?” Maybe she’ll eat more if she’s doing more talking and less thinking.

“Well,” she moves her feet from under the table, drawing my attention to the one red sock and one black one. “My socks are always mismatched because it’s a waste of time and energy to match them. My preferred drink is Sun Drop, but if I’m forced to pick something else, I’ll go with sweet tea. I can re-watch episodes or movies a million times and never get tired of them. My favorite Christmas movie is How the Grinch Stole Christmas. And even though cold and snow suck, winter is my favorite season.” She takes a deep breath. “Your turn.”

I figured this was coming, so I already have mine ready. “Most people think that because I’m so tall and fit that I was an athlete. I couldn’t play any sport if my life depended on it. I’m just bad at it. I love old country music. Even when I was little, I loved listening to it with my grandpa. I got a black lab for Christmas when I turned ten and his name was Johnny Cash. I can’t dance unless it’s a slow dance. Dateline is my favorite TV show. I can always predict what happened or who done it, but I like watching it all unfold. If I had to choose one food to eat for the rest of my life, it would be pizza. I have it for dinner once or twice a week.” I pause and finish with, “I can’t think of anything else off the top of my head.”

She looks surprised. “You really aren’t athletic at all?”

I laugh. “Not even a little. My dad signed me up for every sport available and I failed miserably at them all. He was disappointed at first, but he got over it.”

“Wow. I never would have thought that, or how you’re a country music fan either. Although, I can believe the dancing one for some reason.” She giggles, causing me to smile. She’s managed to eat three slices of pizza, so I feel really proud of myself. “Mind if I use your shower?”

“Sure.”

I show her where to find what she’ll need and then return to the kitchen to clean up the last two days’ worth of dishes while trying not to think about how she’s naked and wet in my house. Is she going to want to go somewhere? Or hang here all day? If it’s the former, where will we go? She knows this town better than I do. Honestly, I’m hoping we can stay here and be lazy.

My phone rings, and my shoulders slump when I see it’s my father. Not telling him about my depression has certain disadvantages and they are always prevalent in our conversations. I go ahead and get the sigh out now before I answer.

“Hey, Dad.”

“I’m surprised you answered,” he says dryly. “You’ve been ignoring my calls for a month now.”

“Things have been busy.” That’s true, but I’ve been ignoring his calls because I haven’t had the energy to talk to him. “I just am settled in here now.”

“It’s not like I wanted to yap with you for an hour; it was a simple checking-in call that wouldn’t have taken ten minutes. Anyway, how are things there?”

“Good. Job is going well so far and I like it here.”

“Great. When are you planning to visit us since you were too busy over Christmas?”

I pinch the bridge of my nose and take a deep breath. “I was moving,” I point out.

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

Dad only remarried three years ago and ever since, he’s been hounding me to go to Texas and visit more often than I do. There’s a reason I don’t visit. Hell, there are a lot of reasons. I pretend to bang my head against the fridge, trying to think of an answer.

“Trace?” I hear my dad and a soft, clearly feminine voice say.

I turn to see Brittany with her wet hair up in a messy bun. She’s squeezing her wrist and looks worried. It pisses me off that I’ve worried her. “Dad, I need to go.”

“What? Why? I’m trying to have a conversation with you and you can’t take a few minutes to talk to me?”

“No, I have company. I’ll talk to you later. Love you, bye.” I hang up without waiting for him to respond.

“Are you okay?” Brittany asks.

“Yeah. I’m going to shower.” I walk past her and am down the hallway when she stops me.

“Trace.”

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