We drive in silence for what feels like forever without making any discernible progress, since my perspective is limited by the trees, but a glance at the speedometer tells me why. Cameron is driving the exact speed limit, not a mile over. He also has both hands on the wheel unless he is shifting gears, and keeps his eyes straight forward, making me wonder if Gabe gave him a warning about my curse, or just instructed him to drive as carefully as possible to make me comfortable.
My anger at Gabe softens a bit when I imagine the conversation they must have had on my behalf, and I decide to show some mercy and send him a text to say that I am safely on my way.
A pang of guilt hits me when I see that Gabe has called and texted multiple times to make sure I am safe, but once I update him, I put my phone back away in my purse, because I still need time to fully forgive him for doing this to me.
“Is the temperature in here comfortable for you?” Cameron asks, filling the silence.
“I am a little warm, actually. Do you mind?”
“Not at all.”
“I normally run cold,” I say, reaching forward to adjust the climate so that he can keep his eyes on the road. “I’m pretty sure it’s because of the alcohol and pill combination, though.”
“Oh?” he asks, giving me a sideways glance.
“Dramamine pills,” I clarify. His response makes me wonder if I was wrong, and that maybe Gabe didn’t give him all the details after all. My cheeks are likely purple at this point, between the heat and continual embarrassment. “I didn’t know what they were, so I took four on accident.”
He whistles low. “Four Dramamine pills and some alcohol?”
“All within one hour of taking off,” I admit.
He shakes his head in disbelief. “For a person your size, I am shocked you are even coherent.”
“Eh.” I shrug, loosening up a little. “I am definitely not all with it right now, so I’m sorry if I am being a little weird.”
He considers my words, and his strong jaw flexes as if he is physically holding back from commenting. I avert my gaze back out the window at the endless wall of trees, wishing I could go hide in them right now.
“So, how did you learn about the reading retreat?” he asks after a moment, and I have to bite my tongue to keep from groaning at how painfully awkward this conversation has become; a travesty considering how easy our conversation was before.
“My brother, his husband, and my boss signed me up for the retreat as a birthday present.”
“That’s nice of them. Happy belated birthday.”
“Thanks.” I frown.
The silence that follows is heavier than before. I wish I had asked him earlier to turn on the radio, because asking now just seems rude. I guess we are stuck talking then, and he asked me the last question, so it’s my turn now.
“How long have you been driving?”
“Umm,” he says, and shoots me a confused look. “Since I was sixteen?”
I let out a sigh. I should have just asked him to turn the music on.
After a few more tortured seconds of silence, he decides to try again, “So, you like reading?”
“Since I was sixteen,” I say, mocking his answer to my previous question. It sounded funny in my mind, but now that it’s out, I realize it is a lame retort.
“Only a few years then, interesting.” I shoot him a look, and he laughs it off. “Do you have any favorite books?”
“Are you serious?” I demand.
“What?” he asks, pretending to be confused.
“We were just asking each other in sexy voices what we were wearing back there on the phone, and your next step is to ask what kind of books I like?” I’m not sure if it’s Epic Drew or the hangover causing me to be so forward. “Isn’t that moving backward on the flirting scale?”
His eyebrows shoot up as he puts on his turn signal to change lanes. “Are we flirting?”
“Before, yes. But I’m not sure what this is now,” I say, gesturing between us.
