Page 64 of Playing With Love

“Perfect.”

I pulled into the drive-thru and ordered our food. It wasn’t until I got to the next window that I felt the vibe had changed. I glanced over at Liza. She was tapping her fingertips against her lips. Something she only did when she was deep in thought. This was something I found cute. Now I found it alarming. Liza deep in thought could mean anything.

“What’re you thinking about?”

“You didn’t ask me what I wanted.”

That was not what I thought she was going to say.

“Two hard tacos, Meximelt, and meat and cheese burrito,” I repeated her normal order. “You never deviate, except when TB got rid of Meximelts, you added a second burrito and complained endlessly while you were eating it about the decline of society and the travesty future generations wouldn’t know the goodness of a Meximelt. But seeing as they’re back I figured you’d want one.”

Instead of speaking she nodded. She also jerked her head in the direction of the window. Sure enough, our food was ready.

It wasn’t until I was back on the road she softly said, “I was just thinking how well you know me.”

About fucking time she admitted it.

“While at the same time, you don’t,” she tacked on.

Christ.

I wasn’t having this conversation in the car. I’d found the best way to get her to stop spiraling was to kiss her. With that option not currently available to me I didn’t respond to her asinine comment.

That meant the rest of the drive home was done in utter silence.

Which was fine by me.

It was after our showers—taken separately, unfortunately—me using the master, Liza using the guest bathroom. Liza was sitting next to me with her damp hair piled on top of her head in one of those buns that were meant to look messy, but I was fairly certain there was an artform to making them look that way. She’d changed into sweats and an oversized t-shirt which would make me wonder if it was a tee she’d confiscated from a man—in which case I’d have to steal it and burn the thing—if it didn’t proudly display an ATF annual shootout logo on it. A shootout that I knew she’d placed second in years back. I didn’t know where she’d placed the last two years or if she’d even entered.

Sitting at the table, I shoved the thought aside and handed Liza her burrito. Another novel tidbit I knew about her, the order in which she ate her food.

“Allyson texted,” she told me.

I wasn’t sure if I wanted to shout or laugh at her play. She knew I saw the text from Allyson confirming we were meeting at her sister’s house at nine tomorrow morning—it was a group text.

“We’re still driving the rental, right?”

“Yep.”

The rental would be changed out for another car registered in our names when we got to Tennessee.

“Dylan—”

“Lizzy, you know Dylan said he’d have the new backstory in place by tonight. If he said it’ll be done, it’s done.”

“Shouldn’t you double check?”

If it was anyone other than Dylan crafting our stories, I would’ve triple checked.

“You don’t double check Dylan.”

“Why not?”

“Honest to God, this is what you want to talk about?”

“Yes,” she hissed. “This is honest to God what I want to talk about. We’re going undercover tomorrow. I want to make sure we’re not made within the first twenty-four hours, screwing my case and putting our lives in jeopardy.”

She had a point, a good one. Unfortunately for her, I gave less than two fucks about her case right now. I’d had time to think about her bullshit comment after we got our food. And thinking on it, it pissed me off that after we’d slid back to us she was veering us off course again.