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I figured going with the truth was safe. Judging by the size of the crowd last night, he is doing a great job.
“We have a stand at the fair tomorrow,” Noah says, saving us from more uncomfortable silence. “I have to go and make sure the tent is set up. Ride with me and we can talk.”
I nod and he rises from the barstool. Jana eyeballs me curiously. It makes me wonder if Noah told her about our history. I don’t know whether their relationship is serious or not, but I wouldn’t want her to worry about us spending time together.
“I’m not gonna be here long.” My gaze hops between Jana and Knox. “In case you were wondering, I have a boyfriend to get back to.”
Blank stares all around. Nuts, I said too much. I definitely said too much. It just went from mildly awkward to downright weird.
“Nice meeting you,” I chirp a bit too loudly, and flash my trademark smile. At this point in my life, it’s a knee-jerk reaction.
“You too,” Jana answers. When Noah turns to leave, she speaks. “What do you want for dinner?”
My stomach gets queasy. My chest feels tight. I’m pretty sure this inappropriate jealousy I’m feeling is all over my face. Hence, it’s no surprise that Knox catches it and returns a curious smile. I force my lips into a semblance of one too. It feels more like a grimace, stiff and creepy, and I regret it instantly.
Noah finally glances my way and the hardness of his expression eases into a softer one, one I can’t decipher. Though if it turns out to be pity, we’re going to have a serious problem. And when I say problem, I mean I’ll strap on a flame-thrower and burn everything he holds dear to the ground. Pity, I won’t abide.
“Anything. There’re a couple of steaks in the freezer,” he absently answers while he continues to watch me.
“’Kay, see you at home,” she cheerfully replies and he gives her a quick smile in return.
I can’t be around this. I’ll turn into a stark-raving wacko if I have to endure them making kissy kissy faces at each other every day.
“Ready?” he says to me with a new spark of humor in his voice.
“Ready,” I answer tightly.
* * *
Neither one of us has said a word since we got in the incredible shrinking cab of his truck, the air between us rife with tension. Actually, pause and rewind. That’s only on my part. Apparently sometime since we got in the truck his mood took a sharp left into happyland while mine went in the opposite direction, right off of a cliff.
I assumed he’d be in a relationship. I’m not an idiot for heaven’s sake. It’s been a decade. He’s a grown man with needs. I’m also pretty sure he’s quite the hot asset around here, on every single woman’s radar. It’s one thing to assume and another to witness it, however. I have no right to these possessive feelings. Rationally, I know this. That’s the thing with feelings however. They can’t be reasoned with.
His hand hangs over the steering wheel, long fingers wiggling, tapping the dash in time with the music while he happily whistles along. Even occasionally joining in with the chorus. In other words he’s having a grand old time.
What am I doing? Perfecting my resting bitch face as I pretend to flip through emails on my phone.
“Can you please stop that? It’s annoying.”
“You used to love my singing.”
“I barely tolerated it.” I’m lying. I loved it. This s.o.b.’s got a great voice to boot. I hate him.
“I distinctly recall you begging me a time or two.”
I look up from browsing through my phone. “Oh please. I did not beg you––ever.”
He cocks an eyebrow. “Ever?”
My face goes up in flames. We both know he’s not talking about singing. This man lives to humiliate me, to remind me what a lovesick fool I’ve been. “You look normal. And yet you’re the devil’s favorite minion.”
I turn the volume on high, the music blasting through the speakers. He reaches over and turns it down.
“Still carrying a grudge, I see.”
“The only thing I carry is an endless supply of sympathy for any woman that gets involved with you.”
A half smile slowly creeps up his face. He turns away from me, hiding it.
“When did you stop getting wasted?”
His amusement drops. Discomfort takes its place. Good. I mentally beat my chest and roar at the sky. It’s about time he’s the one out-of-sorts and floundering instead of me.
He shifts in his seat, legs widening, claiming all the space. His jeans-clad knee touches mine and presses closer. I send him a warning glare and jerk away. “How long?”
“A long time.” His eyes return to the road ahead, fingers tapping on the dash.
His cagey answer compels me to go at it as delicately as a battering ram. “What did you quit first, bad choices or the booze?”
