Page 34 of The Dearly Departed

Very much, in fact.

The truck sat idle at a red light during a lull in the one-sided conversation, and as I tapped my fingers against the steering wheel to the tune of “Only” by Nine Inch Nails playing on the radio, Shawn kept his gaze pointed toward the window.

I was grateful for his silence. I was grateful to do nothing but listen to the raindrops on the roof and Trent Reznor's voice blaring through the speakers. But the moment was fleeting, as Shawn turned toward me with a wistful sigh, and I clenched my jaw, bracing myself for whatever stupid shit he was undoubtedly about to say.

"I think she might be it for me, man. I'm serious."

And there it was, ladies and gentlemen.

I glared at him sidelong, hoping he'd sense my exhausted disinterest without me saying as much.

He didn't.

"She's great, Bram."

He's going to make me say something.

I pressed my eyes shut and gave myself a moment to empty my lungs before saying, "I'm sure she's a nice girl."

"You'd love her," he insisted.

I doubted it. I didn't love many people. I could count on less than one hand the amount of people I'd ever loved in my life, and Shelby was unlikely to make the cut.

Still, I grumbled, "I'll meet her eventually."

"You should come out with us one of these days. She has this friend, and I have a feeling you’d—"

“Okay. I have to stop you right there, Shawn," I said as I maneuvered the truck effortlessly into a parking spot and turned to pin my brother and best friend with a stern glare. "The answer is no. You know the answer is no. So, get all of that shit out of your head right now."

His hopeful expression drooped. "Oh, come on, dude. When was the last time you went out with—"

"Never," I cut him off again, holding up a hand. "We're going to keep it that way, all right?"

With a tip of his head and a narrow of his eyes, he asked, "Don't you ever get sick of being alone though? Aren't you lonely?"

I pretended to consider the question for a moment with a contemplative purse of my lips as I smoothed my palm over the wheel, gazing out the windshield toward the print shop before shaking my head and meeting Shawn's unamused eye.

"Nope." That was a lie.

Sometimes, I was very lonely. Unbearably. But relationships required sex. Sex required trust. Trust required talking and opening up to someone. I was incapable of all those things, and I didn’t see a point in trying.

"Okay, but even Ike gets out," he replied. "Even that psychopath needs affection sometimes."

I snorted at that, smirking as I shook my head. "Ah, yes. The prime example of gentility."

"All right," Shawn muttered with a sigh of resignation, unbuckling his seat belt. "Forget I—"

"A true Casanova, that one," I went on, climbing out of the truck and closing the door behind me.

"You made your point," he threw over his shoulder, leading the way across the parking lot.

"Hey, what was it he said to the last girl he got some affection from?" I asked, catching up to him in long strides. "Hold on. It'll come to me …"

Shawn sighed, giving his head a slight shake.

"Oh, wait, I remember," I said, grabbing the door handle and pulling it open. "After she had the nerve to ask for his number, he said—and I quote—"

"For fuck's sake, Bram," he muttered beneath his breath.