“Boston, huh? Where’s your accent?”
“I grew up in Oklahoma.”
“Again — where’s your accent?”
“Howdy, partner.”
Part of me expected her to keep poking, to dig in the way she always did — and part of me almost welcomed it. It was easier to keep things light than sit in the quiet weight of everything else pressing on my chest.
But at my tone, Emily softened — a rare sighting, I imagined — and reached over to cover my wrist with her hand.
“Hey, I’m sorry. Humor is my default setting. I can’t help it.” She squeezed my wrist, and I looked down at the point of contact, at the micro tattoos lining her hand and fingers. Her nails were long and sharp and painted black.
And for a brief, weak moment, I wondered what they’d feel like raking over my back.
I wondered what it would be like to sayfuck it, to take this train straight to her place and bury myself and all my worries inside her. I wondered if she’d have the power to make me forget for a while, if I could lose myself in the easy way she carried herself through life and pretend I could do the same.
I swallowed, sniffing the thought away as I looked out the window again. “It’s fine. You’re not the first to laugh at my expense when it came to that car.”
That seemed to wound her. “Hey now, I may not have a serious bone in my body, but I’m not an asshole. I wasn’t laughingatyou. And I’ll beat up anyone who has.”
A small smile tugged at my mouth despite myself. There it was — that pull she had, dragging me out of my own head whether I wanted her to or not.
I assessed her with an arched brow. “You will, huh?”
“Look at me.” She waved a hand over her lean, athletic frame. “Who would wanna mess with this?”
“No one who values their life.”
“Exactly. I’m small but scrappy, okay?” She smirked, but then her eyes softened again, those dark brown irises flicking between mine. “That car meant a lot to you, I’m guessing.”
I scratched my neck. “It wasn’t sentimental or anything. I just…”
I trailed off, my stomach curdling. The only way to be honest about why this was a problem was to share my whole fucking life story with her, and I didn’t like sharing it with anyone — least of all a woman I barely knew who was hell bent on being a thorn in my side.
A very hot, very welcome thorn, but a thorn, nonetheless.
“I just don’t really have time to be car shopping,” I finished with a heavy sigh.
Emily flattened her lips. “Because it’s so hard to walk onto a car lot, point at a brand-new car, and say, ‘I’ll take that one, please.’”
“It won’t be a new car. I’ll have to do some research, figure out what’s reliable nowadays. I imagine Toyota is still the way to go; although, I’ve heard good things about Hyundai.” My thoughts trailed off, spiraling as they loved to do as I thought through how to make it all work. “I’ll get maybe five hundred for the Camry. Is CARFAX still a thing?” I tried to think if I’d seen any CARFAX ads lately, but couldn’t recall. “I think it is.”
I must have kept mumbling my thoughts out loud because I turned and found Emily blinking at me.
“You’re going to buy a used car?” she asked, deadpan, like she was suspicious.
“Yes.”
“When you’re a professional football player who makes a bajillion dollars a year?” Again, deadpan and suspicious.
And I could see through the needling — she wasn’t being facetious. She really didn’t understand why someone in the NFL wouldn’t buy a new car instead of a used one. It was a natural thing to wonder, honestly. My friends had questioned me for years about why I had yet to upgrade.
“I’m on a three-year rookie contract and a little shy of a bajillion,” I said.
She blinked, shaking her head. “I’m all for spending modestly, but I have to admit, I don’t think I’d be thinking about CARFAX if I knew I had a million dollars in the bank.”
My throat tightened.
