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“Guess I’ll get the door myself then,” I say, knowing he can’t hear me over the growl under the hood. I climb in, literally since his truck’s on some big ass tires that have me showing a hell of a lot of thigh just to get in, and buckle up.
“Do you have any sense of self-preservation?” he asks, hands tight on the steering wheel. He looks at me, and I realize his asshole act outside was because he wanted me to storm off and go back to my house, cowering in fear of the big, bad man next door.
Because if I did that, he’d be off the hook. Oh, he’d still peel off into the night, but it sure wouldn’t be to go to his family’s for dinner. But with me here, he’s got no choice. And that scares him. Hell, I might even scare him instead of the other way around.
“Of course,” I answer, though I’m not entirely sure that’s true. Right now, I’m starting to scare myself because I’m not leaving this truck short of a pistol in my face. “But I am also willing to do anything to get my laptop back. And I figure if we go to dinner, I’ll find out more about you, and I can leverage that to get my laptop back,” I say, explaining my not-well-thought-out plan of desperation. And then I shrug. “If you kidnap me and sell me to the highest bidder, then my publisher won’t find me and the book won’t matter anyway. Either way, let’s go.”
Dark humor, but nerves are starting to bounce around inside me like wasps, stinging and sharp. But it thaws Connor some, and he gives me a nod. “Fair enough.”
I thought we might have a little conversation on the way, him filling me in on more details and maybe even planning some information in case folks ask those landmine questions that happen in every ‘fake relationship’ story I’ve ever read . . . but those are the only two words he says for the entire drive.
I, on the other hand, ask questions—lots of questions. About his family, about his stealing, about how he got good at it, about who has my laptop, about his sister. I’m a regular chatterbox, peppering him with questions to show him that I’m not going to give up and that I want to do this.
And not once does he speak, not a single answer, no matter how easy or outlandish the question. So I resort to talking to myself, a frequent habit.
“I’m just curious, you know. It’s in my nature to learn about people, their experiences, their lives, what makes them who they are,” I comment as we make a right turn. “Sometimes, they end up as characters in a book, but mostly, it helps me imagine the world from different perspectives. It makes me a better author, I think. Maybe a better person too. I’m a good listener.”
He grunts at that, and considering I’ve been talking for almost forty minutes straight, that does seem a little less than true. But I am a good listener and a good observer. For instance, Connor might not have said a word, but he’s reacted to plenty of my questions. I see his teeth grit when I get too close to a button, his lips twitch when he thinks what I said is amusing, and the way his eyes cut over and his Adam’s apple bobbed when my skirt shifted as we drove over a pothole.
Finally, at a pause in my rambling, he clears his throat, and I wait for him to share some massively informative detail or answer one of my hundreds of questions. “We’re almost there. Two-minute warning to back out.”
Instead of changing my mind, I take a tip from Aleria and place my hands on my thighs as I close my eyes. “Universe, if you’re not too busy dealing with the tides and the earth’s erosion, could you spare a moment to watch over me and Connor on this dangerous mission to see his super-scary family? Thank you. Peace, love, light, and donuts. Love, Poppy.”
I open my eyes to see Connor staring at me from the corner of his eye in shock. “Did you just pray to the universe that my family dinner goes well? And offer donuts in exchange?”
“Everyone likes donuts,” I say with a shrug. “Even Mother Nature.” He blinks rapidly like he doesn’t know what to say to that. Just to really tweak his brain, I add, “I tend to rotate the prayers and wishes. Always want to cover my bases, and I figure that it’ll at least give me an in if there is someone up there listening for me to explain myself when it’s my time.”
“Huh.” A minute later, he turns into a driveway that surprises me. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this. This house is massive, more estate than homey. I’d call it a McMansion except the property’s too big for such a trite description.
