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Her mother is kind of a weak, ditzy, and inconsequential woman—the polar opposite of my mother. Absolutely no one has ever described Terra Spiker as weak. But it’s not like Aislin is being abused. I would know. We have no secrets. Her father is just like Aislin, a funny, charming, and, um, shall we say, adventurous person. But he loves Aislin and she knows it.
They’re distracted parents, not always around, not perfect. Join the club.
So what’s the deal?
Is it all just DNA? Is that twisted double helix the all-controlling code we can never outwit? Is there some chromosome deep down in Aislin’s cells that dooms her to a life of unhappiness with losers like Maddox?
On the other hand, Aislin, at least, has a relationship.
Oh, that was a cruel shot from my own brain. I’m actually arguing with myself as we motor through the streets, looking for Aislin’s house.
Yes, she has a relationship. A bad relationship.
Is a bad relationship supposed to be better than none at all?
How would you know?
There’s no hurry. I’m not a pint of half-and-half about to expire. I can wait until I meet the right person.
You mean the perfect person. The flawless person. That person doesn’t exist.
We drop Aislin. I beckon her to my window, and in a loud whisper that Maddox, to his credit, pretends not to hear, I tell her to come straight to Spiker and stay with me. I beg and plead and know I’m wasting my time.
I watch Aislin a
nd Maddox head inside. She waves wanly before closing the door.
I slam The Leg against the dashboard. “Oh, she drives me crazy sometimes.”
“Your leg doesn’t seem to be bothering you at all,” Solo notes.
“What?” He’s right. I’d forgotten all about it. “Yeah, well, that’s not my main worry right now.”
He holds my gaze as if waiting for something. I have the sudden, bizarre thought that he might be thinking about kissing me.
“Not even,” I say. “I didn’t suddenly turn vulnerable to your charm.”
His eyebrows rise. “Oh, you thought I was going to make a move on you?”
“I didn’t—” I start to say, retreating.
“Stop projecting your feelings on me,” Solo says.
It’s a breathtakingly effective put-down.
I can’t think of a single thing to say in response, although I’m pretty sure I’ll have something in about three hours, when it’s too late to matter.
“No, I thought maybe things were starting to connect for you, that was all,” Solo says as he pulls the car out. “Of course, if you insist on throwing yourself at me, I guess I could play along.”
“There will be no throwing.”
“Well, it’s going to have to come from you,” he says. “You’re the boss’s daughter. You’ll have to make the first move.”
“Then consider yourself safe,” I say.
I turn on the radio.
Loud.
