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“Perfect. Now, if only I could get that pillow and blanket from you.” Will sighs as he lays down.
“In your dreams.” I mumble, as I close my eyes.
“Nah, in my dreams you stayed here next to me.” Those words are all it takes to wake me up. Eyes open, heart racing, I analyze the words he had whispered for the next thirty minutes. He was probably just teasing, but I can’t help but fantasize that maybe he is interested in me.
I fall asleep to my ridiculous musings and when I wake up, Will’s green eyes are right there, watching me. Another one of his famous smirks rests on his face as he watches me blink away the sleep and sit up. I rub my face; pretty sure it is covered in lines from being smashed against the pillow.
“You talk in your sleep.” Will comments.
“What did I say?” It would be just my luck to have rambled all my fantasies of him to him in my sleep.
“What would you fear me hearing the most?” He raises his eyebrows and gives me a curious look, and I swallow my fear and lie my butt off.
“Anything about Wesley.” It’s not a complete lie, and that is why it works. I wouldn’t want him to hear anything about Wesley, but I would take that over him hearing my fantasies about him. We have to spend three months in the car together. I can’t let him know that I think he is Mr. Darcy.
“It wasn’t about Wesley. You said, ‘We have to get them through the line faster.’” Will mimics my sleepy voice.
“Probably a stress dream about a busy shift at the diner.” Those were common for me.
“But now I’m curious. Who is Wesley?” Will gives me an expectant look, waiting for an answer.
“The quarterback.” I roll my eyes, already knowing how he will run with this.
“I should have guessed.” And now it is his turn to roll his eyes. Gosh, how can he make me feel so small with just a look?
“I’m surprised you didn’t.” My voice is bitter because I am. I’m not sure why I like this guy. Because he is attractive? It certainly isn’t because he is so kind and understanding.
“Maybe I’m growing soft about you.” His voice is a little softer, but his face is still hard.
“Doubtful.” I still don’t want to let my guard down. Everything feels like a trap with Will, just another chance for him to prove I’m typical.
“True. Any softness that was developing disappeared when you admitted you dreamed about your ex. Tell me, what kind of Taylor Swift song was your dream about him? The ‘we belong together’ type or the ‘I’m going to ruin your life for leaving me type’?” And there he goes, pissing me off again. I mean, I do love Taylor Swift, and I may have imagined my life turning out one of her music videos (preferably one of the happy ones), but that wasn’t all I was.
“Neither. I didn’t dream of him.” I grab my phone and try to end the conversation by scrolling through social media, but there is no deterring Will.
“Then who do you dream of?” He peers at me over the back of his seat, and I see the unspoken question in his eyes, the invitation to play his game.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” I won’t play his games. I’m not his toy.
“I am curious. That is why I asked.” He sounds so sincere that I want to laugh. This guy gives me whiplash.
“Curious? About a typical simpleton like me? Wow, this road trip is getting to you.” I let my anger bleed out and I watch as it washes over him, a cold realization.
“Okay. If you want my assumptions, I will give them to you.” His voice betrays nothing, but I see him join me in his own anger.
“Go ahead. Tell me, what do I dream of?” And I don’t know if I ask it because if I want him to prove me right or if I want him to prove me wrong. Or maybe I’m just hoping he will finally be wrong about me, that he will finally say something that won’t cut me with shards of the truth.
“I bet you dream of changing a man like me. I bet you dream of showing me the good in the world. But what you don’t see is that you will never change me. I will change you. It’s like a white cloth trying to get rid of a red stain without turning pink itself.” His words are true, and I see it. How we are different, and I can’t bridge that without changing, but I don’t want to change for someone who doesn’t see me clearly to begin with.
“Tell me, do you ever get tired of putting people in boxes?” And I wonder what would have happened if he had never placed me in a box.
“I don’t put you there, you sort yourself.” My question must have struck him because he turns away from me, apparently done with the conversation.
“If I put myself in a box, it’s because I’m tired of trying to explain to you who I am.” And it’s true, I won’t waste my time trying to prove I’m something more than his simple words. If I’ve learned anything in my relationship with Wesley, it was that if you had to prove your worth to someone, they would never see it.
My dad must have sensed the tension in our hanging silence because he stops whistling and spearheads the small talk for the rest of the drive. After several hours of dad’s chit chat, we have exhausted all the basics and dad and Will are chatting about football. When we check into the hotel and dad gives me my room key, I leave without another word. I just can’t stand being around Will for one more moment.
When I get a text from Lilli, I respond immediately, no thinking necessary.
