“Yeah…hopefully you’re right.” Whit looks over at me with shimmering eyes. She plasters a smile on her face. “Okay, enough about my pathetic life. God, I’m the worst date ever.”
“Honey, we’re past making small talk about our jobs or how many siblings we have. I already know all that about you. I’d rather jump into the thick of it—the quicksand, if you will.”
She stares at me with a raised eyebrow the entire time I’m scouring my phone for the electronic tickets to show the front-gate employee. When the truck pulls forward, heading toward our parking space, she says, “You don’t already know everything. What’s my job?”
My pickup kicks up dust in a line of glowing taillights, and we inch forward as I search for the assigned number. The place is jam-packed with vehicles, and with my window rolled down, the scent of buttery popcorn and barbecue is overpowering. Gravel crackles under the tires and we’re moving so slowly down the narrow alley, people walking toward the concession stand keep passing us.
I’m sure Whit thinks I’m struggling to determine an answer to her question, but I’m silent because I suck at multitasking. Once we’re safely parked in spot number thirty-two with the engine shut off, I unbuckle my seatbelt and turn to face her.
“I asked Jonas about your job once and he said you give people jobs. Not entirely sure what that means, but I knowyou work from home and wear a lot of fancy-looking shirts.Oh,and you can’t have pink hair.” I sit a little taller, ready to impress her with my knowledge. “You have one sister. You like sour keys—by the way, I brought a jumbo bag for tonight. I don’t know what your favorite food is yet. Jonas said your favorite color is orange, but I think he’s wrong because you’re almost always wearing either black or green. Black technically isn’t a color, and green has recently become my favorite, so I’m rooting for that to be it.”
Her skin’s infused with color from a movie trailer playing on the screen, and even in the dim truck cab, she’s breathtaking.
“All right, those are pretty good answers.” She speaks out of the corner of her mouth, with the rest tied up in a smile. She looksimpressed.“I’m a recruiter, so I essentially do what Jonas said; I recruit people for positions in the healthcare industry. Um…favorite food is pizza, hands down. It physically pains me to have to say no to Jonas when he’s asking for pizza almost every day. But like…I have to remind myself that I’m his parent and need to make sure he’s eating a varied diet.”
Things Whit Likes:
Coffee with two sugars
Enamel pins
Reading
A hot guy to wash her hair and cook her favorite meal (pizza)
Back-to-back orgasms
“And you’re right about my favorite color. If you say your favorite is green because that’s the color of my eyes—”
“Nope. It’s my favorite because it’s your favorite. Also, you look fucking incredible in green. But your eyes are two of the most stunning things I’ve ever seen, so that would be a valid reason all on its own. Green’s an easy choice.”
Her lips part, words Velcroed to the tip of her tongue, and even the slow drag over her teeth won’t get them out. Eventually she shuts her mouth before opening it again with a hoarse whisper, “So, uh, what about you? Beau’s your only sibling, right?”
“Yeah, but my cousins are basically like siblings, too. We all grew up together. Plus, there always seemed to be other neighborhood kids around, like Keely—Beau’s girlfriend—and her brother.”
“That sounds amazing. All you kids growing up together like that must’ve been great.” Her tone carries a hint of something I can’t put my finger on. Not quite sadness.
“It was feral as fuck.” I laugh. “That’swaytoo many kids. I think two or three is a better number. Still have friends to play with, but in a manageable way.”
Glancing to her right, Whit abruptly says, “Hey, the concession line doesn’t look too long. We should go grab some food before the movie starts.”
“Oh, um…yeah, good call. Let’s go.” I unenthusiastically let go of her hand so we can hop out into the dark parking lot, filled with the scent of popcorn and grilled hot dogs and truck exhaust fumes.
Whit
My head rests against Colt’s chest, the steady drumming of his heart in perfect harmony with my own. And though my eyes may be on the fifty-foot screen ahead of us, my mind’s anywhere but. I tried not to let the talk about kids bother me, because I know he probably didn’t mean it in a “I want you to have my babies” or even in a “I want two or three kids” type of way. He was speaking about his lived experience as a kid. Or at least, that’s what I told myself the entire time we got food, and through the first half of the movie.
Probably for the best, anyway. The theater is playingTwisters,and if I focus too much on the plot, I’ll have nightmares for a week about my house being taken out by a tornado. My brain neglects the fact that I live in the mountains of British Columbia, where that’s basically an impossibility.
For the twentieth time, I pick up my phone, confirming I haven’t missed a phone call or text from the babysitter, to find the best news possible: Jonas is asleep.
I relax deeper, spread across the bench seat with Colt’s arm looped around my shoulders. His hand rests on my stomach, and I fidget with it—tracing the meandering lines across his palm, rubbing my smooth thumb over his callused one, discovering a hundred different ways to interlace our fingers.
He dangles a sour key in front of my face, far enough awaythat I’m forced to wiggle slightly in the seat to sit up straighter to try and get it. And he moves it farther still.
“Give me the candy, you jerk,” I say, faking an unamused, serious tone.
He finally pops the sugar-coated, sweet yet sour treat onto my tongue, then takes hold of my chin so he can kiss me tenderly. Tucking the sour key into my cheek, I crane my neck to deepen the kiss, and the gradual bowing of my back has our joined hands falling into my lap.
