Page 33 of Regretting Youu

He leans his head back against his seat and thinks on this for a moment. “Iced tea. And cornbread. I love cornbread.”

I laugh. Not what I expected. I wait a moment before taking another hit. Lexie would be horrified if she saw me right now.

Shit. Lexie.

I didn’t even tell her I was leaving the funeral. I look at my phone, but she hasn’t texted. I only have one text from my mother, sent fifteen minutes ago.

Mom: Where are you?

I flip my phone facedown. If I can’t see the text, it doesn’t exist.

“What about you?” Miller asks. “What’s your thing?”

“Acting. But you already know that.”

He makes a face. “When you asked what my thing was, for some reason, I thought we were talking about things we like to consume.”

That makes me smile. “No, it includes anything. What are you the most into? What is the one thing you would never be willing to give up in life?” He’s probably going to say Shelby.

“Photography,” he says quickly. “Filming, editing. Anything that puts me behind the camera.” He tilts his head and smiles at me. “But you already know that.”

“That why you have a dashcam?” I say, pointing at it. “You have a need to be behind a camera, even when you’re driving?”

He nods. “I also have this.” He opens the glove box and pulls out a GoPro. “I always have some kind of camera on me. Never know when that perfect photographic moment will arise.”

I think Miller might be just as into filming as I am when it comes to acting. “Too bad your ex won’t let us work on the film project together. We might actually make a good team.” I lift the joint back to my mouth, even though I hate everything about it. “How much do I have to smoke before it makes me feel numb?”

“It might not make you feel numb. It might make you feel nervous and paranoid.”

I look at the joint, disappointed. “Well, crap.” I look for somewhere to snuff it out, but there’s not an ashtray in his truck. “What do I do with it? I don’t like it.”

Miller takes it from me and pinches the end of it with his fingers. He gets out and throws it in a trash can, then comes back to his truck.

Such a gentleman. Buying me weed and then disposing of it for me.

What a weird day. And I don’t feel anything at all yet. Still just full of grief.

“I’m back together with Shelby.”

I take it back. I felt that.

“That sucks,” I say.

“Not really.”

I roll my head and look at him pointedly. “No . . . it does. It sucks. You shouldn’t have even brought it up.”

“I didn’t,” he says. “You did. You called her my ex a minute ago, and I felt I needed to clarify that we got back together.”

I don’t even know why he’s telling me this. I tilt my head, narrowing my eyes. “Do you think I’m into you? Is that why you keep informing me of your relationship status when we’re together?”

Miller smiles. “You’re abrasive.”

I laugh, turning away from him because I’m scared my laugh will result in tears. It’s funny, though. Sad and funny, because my mother used to refer to my father as abrasive. I guess the apple didn’t fall far from my father’s tree either.

Miller must think he insulted me, because he leans forward a little, trying to get my attention. “I didn’t mean that in a negative way.”

I wave him off, letting him know I’m not offended. “It’s fine. You’re right. I am abrasive. I like to argue, even when I know I’m wrong.” I face him. “I’m getting better, though. I’m learning that sometimes you have to walk away from the fight in order to win it.” My aunt Jenny told me that once. I try to remember it every time I feel like I’m on the defensive.