“People I need to get in touch with,” I say, maybe a little stiffly.
“But what about like, you know, friends?”
My fingers tighten around the steering wheel. “What do you care? I’m notshy. I’m just not a fucking people person. You knew what you were getting into with me,” I admonish him.
“But how —” Bunny frowns. “What do you think the difference is between that and being shy, then?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” I challenge him with a scowl.
“No —and I’m not saying that to be mean or bratty. It’s not. What’s the difference?”
I huff out a sigh. Haven’t I spent enough fucking time out of my comfort zone tonight? I’d really been looking forward to a quiet ride home, not a psychology quiz.
“Shy is, like, being afraid of or uncomfortable around people. I’m notafraidof people, for fuck’s sake. I just don’tlikethem.”
“Mm-hmm.” When Bunny doesn’t say anything else, I take my eyes off the road long enough to look at him. He’s staring out into the dark with a thoughtful look on his face, twirling a lock of hair around one finger absently.
I consider the conversation over, so I’m surprised when Bunny pipes back up a few minutes later. “But you like people once you get to know them.”
I scoff. “What do you mean? Like who?”
“Well, me, for one.”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
It’s like I can feel my last nerve snapping. “JesusChrist. What’s with the twenty questions routine?”
Bunny’s shoulders slump with his sigh. Shit. I was supposed to be going to this damn book thing to tell him how proud I was of him. I wasn’t trying to get into —much less start — an argument.
“I’m sorry,” I say. I try to hold it back, but it comes out anyway. “But I’m not shy.”
“OK,” Bunny says in a quiet voice.
“And I really am proud of you. I’m impressed by your talent, and I’m glad other people recognize it, too.”
“Thank you,” he mumbles.
I reach over and give his thigh a squeeze. “I mean it. That seemed like a big crowd.”
“Yeah, it felt like it,” he says, perking up a little. I breathe an inward sigh of relief.
“I don’t think you needed me there.”
“But I’m glad you came,” he says quickly. “Thank you. Was it as bad as you thought?” he adds after a pause.
“You’re welcome. And no —it was definitely worse.” Ugh, that didnotcome out in the sardonic tone I intended. Christ, that’s fucking awkward.
I quickly change the subject. “How did it feel to have people asking you to autograph shit?”
He grins. “It was wild, actually. Like, whoa —how is this real life?”
I remember what I wanted to ask him. “Hey, what did that one woman who took a selfie with you ask you to draw?”
“Oh! I didn’t know you saw that.”
I chuckle and give his leg another squeeze. “I wanted to stay out of the way, but yeah —of course I was keeping an eye on you.”
