Besides, I really think everything with you and Rick was just a misunderstanding. I mean—”
I grab my bag and put up my hand. “Fine. Gotta go.”
Taking a breath, I head outside. It’s a nice day; the sun is already warm and the birds are singing like crazy. When I step down the last stair on the rickety staircase on the side of the building, Wish’s truck comes into view. He’s standing on the curb, ready to open the passenger-side door, like a real gentleman. He takes one look at me and blinks. “Whoa. I’d say you’re feeling better.”
“Much.” I grin. I think about doing a little twirl to show off my stuff, but I decide I will probably trip and end up bleeding on the sidewalk. “Do you like?”
“Very much. You did your hair, right?” He reaches out and twists a curl around his finger.
“Um, yeah.” Well, at least he recognized that, even if he didn’t notice the thirty other things I did. I’ve heard men aren’t the most observant when it comes to that.
I climb into his truck. Again, I notice he has the mirrors tilted so that the sun is streaming into his eyes, making them look like pools of chlorinated water. To ward off any more uncomfortable silences, I thought of topics of conversation during most of the two hours I spent getting ready. Nothing heavy, just light, fun things. As he takes off toward the bridge, I see Rick’s BMW in the rearview mirror and pull one out of my arsenal. “So, how are the waves here compared to the ones in California?”
Wish doesn’t answer me. It was a good question, or at least I thought it was. Not too difficult, and it shows I care about his hobbies. In fact, it was at the top of my list of “safe” topics to talk about. Topics like bodily functions, sex, and body parts normally hidden by clothing were on my “extremely unsafe” list, but surfing, well, I figured that to be pretty harmless. Until now.
I realize he’s staring out the rearview mirror, too, at my sister as she hops into Rick’s convertible. “He’s not driving your sister to school, is he?”
“Who? Rick? Yeah.” I roll my eyes. “She says she’s infatuated with his car only, but I don’t buy it.”
He swings the truck into third gear, and I marvel at how manly his hairy forearm looks on the stick. I’m just deciding that there is nothing sexier than a guy shifting a manual transmission when he says, “If I had a sister, I’d never let her anywhere near that guy.”
“Believe me, I’ve warned her. It didn’t do any good.”
He pauses. “I know you did. But she’s not listening, because you’re too nice.” He thinks for a second. “Maybe I should talk to her.”
“Be my guest.”
“Kids these days …” He puts on his best old-fogey voice and pumps his fist in the air. “I feel sorry for her.”
“What for?”
He sighs. “Being beautiful. It’s not fun. People want things from you. They suck you dry.” He gives me a half smile. “So I hear.”
So he has noticed Evie’s beauty, even though he hasn’t noticed my lack thereof. He’s obviously speaking from personal experience. I can’t add anything to the conversation, so I just shrug.
“You’re too nice. I would scream at her to stay away. I would smack it into her,” he says.
“Sure you would.” The thing is, even though he’s calling me nice, he’s the one who should be applying for sainthood. He hardly knows Evie, yet he doesn’t want to see her hurt. And here I am, related by blood to Evie and actually a little excited to see Rick teach her a lesson so I can say, “I told you so.” In fact, I get a small thrill thinking about it. “You think Rick is going to break her heart?” I ask as we sail over the bridge to the mainland. The windows are open, letting in the cool bay breeze, and seagulls are perched on every streetlight, almost like an audience, wondering what stupid question I’ll ask next.
“I think he’s going to show his bad side to her, sooner or later. It always
I grab my bag and put up my hand. “Fine. Gotta go.”
Taking a breath, I head outside. It’s a nice day; the sun is already warm and the birds are singing like crazy. When I step down the last stair on the rickety staircase on the side of the building, Wish’s truck comes into view. He’s standing on the curb, ready to open the passenger-side door, like a real gentleman. He takes one look at me and blinks. “Whoa. I’d say you’re feeling better.”
“Much.” I grin. I think about doing a little twirl to show off my stuff, but I decide I will probably trip and end up bleeding on the sidewalk. “Do you like?”
“Very much. You did your hair, right?” He reaches out and twists a curl around his finger.
“Um, yeah.” Well, at least he recognized that, even if he didn’t notice the thirty other things I did. I’ve heard men aren’t the most observant when it comes to that.
I climb into his truck. Again, I notice he has the mirrors tilted so that the sun is streaming into his eyes, making them look like pools of chlorinated water. To ward off any more uncomfortable silences, I thought of topics of conversation during most of the two hours I spent getting ready. Nothing heavy, just light, fun things. As he takes off toward the bridge, I see Rick’s BMW in the rearview mirror and pull one out of my arsenal. “So, how are the waves here compared to the ones in California?”
Wish doesn’t answer me. It was a good question, or at least I thought it was. Not too difficult, and it shows I care about his hobbies. In fact, it was at the top of my list of “safe” topics to talk about. Topics like bodily functions, sex, and body parts normally hidden by clothing were on my “extremely unsafe” list, but surfing, well, I figured that to be pretty harmless. Until now.
I realize he’s staring out the rearview mirror, too, at my sister as she hops into Rick’s convertible. “He’s not driving your sister to school, is he?”
“Who? Rick? Yeah.” I roll my eyes. “She says she’s infatuated with his car only, but I don’t buy it.”
He swings the truck into third gear, and I marvel at how manly his hairy forearm looks on the stick. I’m just deciding that there is nothing sexier than a guy shifting a manual transmission when he says, “If I had a sister, I’d never let her anywhere near that guy.”
“Believe me, I’ve warned her. It didn’t do any good.”
He pauses. “I know you did. But she’s not listening, because you’re too nice.” He thinks for a second. “Maybe I should talk to her.”
“Be my guest.”
“Kids these days …” He puts on his best old-fogey voice and pumps his fist in the air. “I feel sorry for her.”
“What for?”
He sighs. “Being beautiful. It’s not fun. People want things from you. They suck you dry.” He gives me a half smile. “So I hear.”
So he has noticed Evie’s beauty, even though he hasn’t noticed my lack thereof. He’s obviously speaking from personal experience. I can’t add anything to the conversation, so I just shrug.
“You’re too nice. I would scream at her to stay away. I would smack it into her,” he says.
“Sure you would.” The thing is, even though he’s calling me nice, he’s the one who should be applying for sainthood. He hardly knows Evie, yet he doesn’t want to see her hurt. And here I am, related by blood to Evie and actually a little excited to see Rick teach her a lesson so I can say, “I told you so.” In fact, I get a small thrill thinking about it. “You think Rick is going to break her heart?” I ask as we sail over the bridge to the mainland. The windows are open, letting in the cool bay breeze, and seagulls are perched on every streetlight, almost like an audience, wondering what stupid question I’ll ask next.
“I think he’s going to show his bad side to her, sooner or later. It always
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