I blink. “I wasn’t talking to you.”
Uh-oh.
He frowns and looks around. “Who are you talking to, then?”
“… Motor?”
“The dog that’s in my room? Asleep?”
You suck at lying.
I tap my temple furiously and he walks over to the couch, leaning his hands on the back of it. “Is that what the tapping is for? A voice in your head?”
Oh my God, he can read your mind. Quick, think about sex.
“No …” I say. “Maybe.”
“Seriously? You tap your temple because you’re having a conversation in your head?”
I place the laptop down. “I tap my temple to shut the voice up.”
This is weird. I’ve only ever told my mom about my writer’s brain and now Gable has guessed. Sure, I came close to telling Asher, but we never got there. Someone else knowing feels … strange.
“Explain.”
“It’s a voice that writes for me.”
He pauses, as if absorbing the information, then shrugs. “Okay.”
I shoot to my feet and follow him. “Okay? That’s all?”
“What did you want me to say?”
I don’t know. I expected teasing, I guess. There’s a reason I’ve kept this a secret for so long. “I thought you’d make fun of me.”
He grabs a water bottle from the fridge. “Why? We all have our little coping mechanisms. Mine is cleaning. Yours is your … what do you call it?”
“My writer’s brain.”
He leans his forearms against the island. I’m suddenly aware of how close we are when I haven’t noticed it for the last three weeks. “That’s a boring name. I’m calling it Todd.”
“You’re not calling it Todd!”
“Good night, Gibson! Good night, Todd!”
He heads for the stairs, and I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly more worried about being in a house with him than ever before.
Who don’t you trust, Ella? You or him?
Maybe both of us.
I curl up in my chair again and pick up my phone to text Matilda.
ME: Am I a terrible person if I have feelings for someone so soon after Asher?
As always, Matilda reads it immediately.
MATILDA: of course not. It’s been six months, and you can’t help your feelings, babe. Who is it?
