Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 94883 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94883 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
“Got it. We’re not going to talk about what happened last night,” I say, sparing her further pussyfooting around. “Coming in loud and clear. And honestly, I’m glad,” I lie. “I’d much rather spend that energy booking flights to Aruba. And a fancy hotel on the beach with a waterslide. I’m going to need a waterslide, Makena. Call me a child, if you must, but I can’t just lie by a pool. I have to frolic. Frolicking is mandatory.”
She stands, her lips quirking into a crooked smile as she reaches down to help me up. “Me, too, but I’m not letting you fly me to Aruba, psycho. That’s too much.”
I take her hand, thankfully not needing it nearly as much as I would have even a couple of days ago. Still, I take advantage of the chance to hold onto her fingers as I whisper, “It’s not too much. It’s just enough. Please, I need a beach that doesn’t smell like rotten eggs and alligator farts.”
She laughs. “Agreed, but we can find a beach like that without hopping on a plane. And what’s more exciting than the open road, tons of snacks, and a bus station in every major city in case you get sick of me and need to send me home on the next Greyhound?”
Curling my hand tighter around hers, fighting the urge to tell her that I’m not her dad or any of the other losers she’s dated.
I’m not going to ask her to be someone else. I see who she is, and I like what I see. The only thing I don’t like is how often I see the back of her head hightailing it away from me.
But she said “no feelings,” and I’m trying to respect that, so I just roll my eyes before moving on to more pressing issues. “Okay, road trip it is. But not to the West Coast. I made that drive with some of the guys on the team last year, and it was fucking miserable. Twenty-six hours doesn’t sound that bad, in theory. But by the time we hit hour three of Nix blasting divorced dad rock, I was ready to jump out a window. I flew back from San Diego after.”
Makena hums beneath her breath as we start back to the parking lot downtown. “Yeah, that’s way too far. We can find fun things closer to home. I have a few ideas already. Let me marinate on it. I’ll work out an itinerary this afternoon, and we can hash it out over dinner tonight. Fair warning, though, it will be at least partly food-motivated. I hope that’s okay.”
“Very okay,” I agree. “You know me, I like to eat.”
“Me, too, and June is a great time of the year for food festivals.” A bounce comes back into her step as she adds, “Oh, and seafood festivals! I think there’s one in Mobile where the crabs just hurl themselves on shore, right into your pot.”
I shoot her a dubious look. “No way. That’s not a real thing.”
“No, it is,” she maintains before scrunching her nose. “But it might not be a festival. I think it’s more of a spontaneous thing that happens when shellfish get deprived of oxygen. And you have to actually put them in the pot after they yeet themselves onto the beach, but still! Interesting! I would totally drive a day to watch a bunch of suicidal crabs.”
“Sounds like a good time,” I agree. “And we could get matching ‘I Got Crabs in Mobile’ t-shirts.”
She snorts. “You wish I’d give you crabs in Mobile.”
“I do,” I agree. “I really do.”
She rolls her eyes with a sigh. “I wouldn’t give you crabs, weirdo. I haven’t been with anyone since Chuck and all my tests came back clear, so…”
“Same. Been a while and all clear. Not a fact I’m sharing for any particular reason or anything, but…”
“Yeah, same,” she agrees. “Just FYI. I mean, knowing your road trip buddy doesn’t have crabs is always good. In case we end up sharing a hotel room or whatever.”
“Or a bed,” I add. “Sometimes the rooms only have one bed. But we could share a king-size. You’re tiny, and I don’t move around much. We could put the extra pillows in between us and keep things purely friendly.”
“Right. That wouldn’t be weird.”
“Not weird at all,” I agree.
Silence falls between us for a moment before she adds in a less playful voice, “My dad would still be scandalized. Even if he knew we were just friends.”
I grunt.
Just friends…
I guess that’s still true.
For now.
But if we make it through two nights of this road trip without banging each other’s brains out, I’ll be very fucking surprised. I suppose crazier things have happened.
Like crabs yeeting themselves out of the ocean, for example…
Chapter
Eleven
From the texts of Makena DeWitt