"It would've turned into quite a lot of sex if his kid hadn't called."
After a beat of silence, I heard a slow clap. "I always knew you had it in you."
"Jamie! What should I do?" I wailed.
"Why do you have to do anything? Just let it happen."
"I can'tlet it happen," I said.
"And why not? I'm just saying, you're supposed to be putting on this elaborate show of being engaged and there's obviouslysome tension there so why not ride it out?" She chuckled. "Literally."
"Because—because we can't go down that road again," I said, though it sounded like a pathetic excuse even to my ears. The most pathetic excuse. But it was also true, as much as I hated it. "And I don't think he wants that."
"Right, right, right," she murmured. "He's probably very meh about the whole thing. When you think about it, he dreamed you up—specificallyyou—as his fiancée and orchestrated this whole thing and participated in the jealous arguing, kissing, and getting half undressed. That's all very vague. I'm straining to connect the heart-shaped dots over here."
"That's not what's happening and I never said anything about jealous arguing."
"No, you didn't. You just prefaced it by saying you danced with bull riders, plural—nicely done, by the way—so I'm left to assume this boy of yours didn't enjoy watching from the sidelines."
"Fine. Let's say that's true. That means his reaction was about the heat of the moment and nothing else."
"You're saying he was so overcome by watching other guys touch you that the only thing he could do was make sure you rememberedhimtouching you?" Jamie laughed. "Yeah. You're probably right. That meant nothing."
"We just can't go there," I said.
"Why not?" Before I could respond, she went on. "Not the wacky little stories you tell yourself to keep from doing the things you want, but seriously, truly, actually why not? Because I can't see a single downside to making the most of being trapped in a motel room with your possessive ex."
"I know what you're doing," I said.
"Fabulous, but do you know whatyou'redoing? Because I'd call it ignoring obvious signs."
I huddled closer to the side of the feed store as the sun swallowed up my shade. I could feel it scorching the back of my arms. "I can't go there with him again. There's no way it would work out and, anyway, our lives are going in totally different directions."
"And who's to say they have to keep going in those directions? Or that those directions aren't meant to converge?"
"James, I love you, but I can't have an existential conversation right now. I need to know how to spend five non-awkward hours in a car with my alleged fiancé after we mauled each other last night."
"You want to find out where his head's at? Ignore him."
I shook my head. "What?"
"Yeah. Trust me on this. Read a book. Knit a scarf. Pop in some earbuds and listen to a podcast. Whatever. Do your own thing. Be aloof—you're remarkably good at that."
"Thank you?"
"Anytime, babe. Quiet yourself down and give him time to let those thoughts of his swirl themselves into a tornado. Just like they did when you started dirty dancing."
"It wasn't dirty dancing."
"If they were bull riders, it was dirty dancing. They don't know any other way."
"And how do you know anything about bull riders?" I asked.
"We don't have time for a lesson in ropes today," she said. "We'll sit in the kiddie pool when you're back home and have a single girls' night, and we'll get into it. If that boy doesn't wife you up before then."
"There will be no wifeing up on this trip," I whisper-yelled.
Behind me, a throat cleared. Loudly.
