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Fuck, she can talk.
She’s been interrogating me ever since we left the bar.
‘Why did you come tonight, Reed?’
‘I didn’t need your help, I was doing fine.’
‘You don’t have to rescue me.’
‘Why are we going this way?’
‘This isn’t the way to my apartment.’
‘You’re not taking me home?’
‘Oh great, you’re going to kill me, aren’t you?’
‘So this is it, you’re a murderer.’
‘I knew you looked suss.’
“We’re getting fucking snacks!” I shout, throwing my head back against the headrest. I pull the Jeep into an empty space right by the front door. The Jeep comes to a sudden stop, and so does Brinley.
Thank fuck.
She hesitates and looks around, taking in her surroundings. “Oh.”
“Yeah,oh,” I mock, unbuckling my seat belt.
She looks around the parking lot, then eventually turns to look at me. She’s so fucking pretty it makes my head swim. “You still want to watchThe Fallwith me? Even after…” Her eyes drop to my groin. “You know, all that business.”
“Don’t you worry about him. He has a mind of his own.” I wink at her, which scores me an eye roll and a shake of the head by way of a response. “I’ve got him under control. He’ll behave himself.”
“You said that last time.”
“And I followed through with that promise.”
“Did you?”
Grabbing a baseball cap from the back seat, I shove it on my head and then put on a pair of dark aviator sunglasses. “Yes, I did. Now come on.” I climb from the Jeep and walk toward the entrance of the store.
Brinley follows me inside and grabs a basket by the door.
“Really?” I ask, tilting my head while I watch her hurry down the first aisle. “We need a basket?”
Apparently, I don’t know shit about girls and what they consider a decent amount of snacks to consume while binge-watching a television series, because Brinley proceeds to grab two blocks of chocolate, a bag of Cheetos, Milk Duds, and cookie dough in a roll. I didn’t even know such a thing existed. She also gets a tub of Ben & Jerry’s ice cream, as well as two cans of Cherry-Cola, a big bag of Twizzlers, and a packet of Oreos.
“You almost done?” I ask, looking around the store. Being in here makes me feel antsy and on edge. I don’t like it. Nerves and something else scamper up my spine, making me twitchy. “Let’s get out of here.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re really pale,” she says, stopping in the middle of the aisle. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“I’m fine.”
We walk the length of the aisle beside one another, and then we turn the corner at the front of the store, and Brinley giggles as she hurries over to the rack beside the magazines.
