Instead, I sat there under the lamp’s bad yellow light and let her get under my skin one line at a time.
The air conditioner rattled. A truck passed on the highway beyond the trees. The television next door went quiet, and somewhere behind the motel, the trash-bin lid banged once in the wind. Crystal ate three pretzels, drank water, and pretended exhaustion wasn’t dragging at the corners of her eyes.
I knew that kind of stubborn.
I’d seen it in mirrors.
“You should sleep,” I said.
“You first.”
“That isn’t how this works.”
“Because you’re afraid I’ll run.”
“Because you will run.”
“I might surprise you.”
“You have surprised me several times today.”
“That sounded complimentary.”
“It was a warning.”
“Those are sexier when you mean them.”
My grip tightened on the armrests.
Crystal noticed. She noticed everything that mattered when it gave her leverage.
I leaned forward, elbows on my knees. “You keep pushing because you want me off balance.”
“I keep pushing because you make interesting faces.”
“You’re trying to make me careless.”
“Are you getting careless?”
“No.”
It was the only answer I could afford.
Her gaze moved over me, not shy and not subtle. Across my shoulders. Down my forearms. To the tattoos visible below my sleeves. To the crucifix where it had slipped over my shirt again.
She nodded toward it. “That yours?”
My hand covered the cross before I meant it to.
Her eyes narrowed, but not with mockery this time.
I lowered my hand. “It is now.”
“Wasn’t always?”
“No.”
The silence held.
