She plays along, copying my tone. “And the washing machine is having trouble draining.”
“Of course.”
Her lips twitch. “We need to make sure Arthur is convinced.” But I think her eyes are saying,I’m having fun with you.
“Wouldn’t want you to run into any more problems with theA-frame.” My eyes reply,I’m having fun with you too.
When we reach the back of the truck, we set our food on the tailgate. It turned out the air mattress I had fit perfectly in the back, so I set that up with a few quilts and a bunch of pillows, and quite frankly it looks like the coziest movie-watching experience in the world.
Fable climbs up first. “When was your last date?” She gets herself settled cross-legged on the mattress before I hand her our food.
“Well, we went to Maddox and Vivian’s,” I remind her, lifting myself up into the truck.
“You know what I mean. Before me.”
“I’m pretty sure the right boyfriend response is to say,there wasno one before you, pookie,” I tease, avoiding the question. My dating history (if you can even call it that) isn’t exciting or noteworthy. I’ve been on many dates in my adult life, and all of them were for one purpose—a hookup. It’s not a very interesting story to tell.
“No, the right response is the truth. Or yourpookieis going to hit you with a pillow.” We shift the blankets and food around so we can both get comfortable leaning against the cab’s back window. She tips sideways, bumping her shoulder into my bicep. “I’m genuinely asking.”
“I’ve been on dates, but it’s always very casual,” I explain, unwrapping my burger. “Never more than one evening, really.”
“So, hookups.” She opens her ranch and dunks three fries.
“There was one woman I... met up with regularly for a little while. We were both looking for”—I take a sip of beer to wet my throat—“physical release, and we provided that for each other. No guilt, no emotions. It worked out perfectly until she met the love of her life at the laundromat one day.”
“Friends with benefits?” she asks.
“Minus thefriends. We didn’t really spend time together outside of sex.”
Her thoughtful hum threads between us. “My last relationship—or situationship, I guess—was Philip.”
Surprise jolts through me. “Philip?! The same one who knocked you into me at the Branch?”
“The very same.”
“The one who didn’t even acknowledge you?”
She grabs a chicken tender. “We were together-ish for about four months, but he wanted it kept a secret the whole time.”
The rage that fills me is instantaneous and hot. “What the fuck?”
Fable swallows, staring down at her food. “I’m over it. Really. The other night confirmed he was such a waste of time and emotional effort. No point in letting it bother me.”
I scrub a hand over my jaw. “We really should’ve slashed his tires, Fabes.”
“Yeah,” she sighs. “It would’ve been fun.”
We eat in silence for a few minutes, watching a particularly creepy scene on the screen. She shivers and I scoot closer, bringing my side up against hers.
“Anyone serious before Philip?” I ask, my curiosity getting the better of me.
“Not really. Ialways seem to hit a wall around the two-month mark and lose interest. Some random thing gives me the ick. Or I’m bored. Or I’ve found myself not caring whether I see them or not. Broke up with someone because he didn’t believe in climate change. Another when they were rude to our waiter.” She huffs a laugh. “One guy hated animals.”
“Ultimate red flags.”
She stays quiet for a minute, twirling a fry in her ranch. “It’s possible I wasn’t giving those relationships enough time to really mean something.” With a softhuh, she sits back. “I guess I’ve been quitting those too?”
I plant a hand on her bent knee, pulling her attention to me. “Realizing you deserve better doesn’t make you a quitter. If you open a door, and it doesn’t feel right, don’t stay in that room. Turn around and look for the next one. The one that’ll make you happy.”
