“You did that on purpose didn’t you?”
I rub at my head and try to surreptitiously wipe the drool from his door handle.
“I’m shocked you can sleep with all of that noise,” he tells me.
I look out the window. We’re already to exit 9 on the Jersey turnpike. The exit of my alma mater: Rutger’s University.
“Your singing was pretty soothing actually,” I admit.
“I was talking about your snoring.”
“Har. Har.”
He lets out a long breath and glances at me for half a second. I lift a brow.
“Devon, we need to talk,” he says and every muscle in my body contracts. The last thing we need to do is talk. We need to avoid and deny. Pretend.
“Let’s not and say we did,” I say. “We were drinking on poker night. And I stumbled in the shed.”
His brows pull together and he shakes his head.
“You had a few beers, Devon. I was stone cold sober,” he says. “And you are clumsy as shit, but your balance was perfect in the shed.”
I skootch a little closer to the door as if distance will protect me from that dumbass dimple.
“Either way. It was a moment of comforting between friends,” I say.
“Mmmhmm.”
His smirk is infuriating.
“What aren’t you saying, J.J.?” There it is. The deep laugh that I’m used to hearing from him. And all it took was channeling his mother.
“A lot. I’m not saying a lot,” he answers. “I think it’s time for you to face the inevitable?—"
“Sweet Joseph, you are arrogant. Inevitable? Cornering me in the shed does not inevitability make.” I cluck and he lets out the breath that I use when my students won’t stop saying, “that’s what she said.”
His cell phone rings from where it’s perched on the air conditioning vent and the name Jenny appears with the picture of a beautiful dark-haired woman with an even more beautiful young girl in her lap.
“Shit. I have to answer this,” he murmurs. And before I can say of course he’s accepted the call on the blue-tooth and the interior of the car is flooded with a smooth but annoyed voice.
“Jesus, Jeff. Fifteen voicemails!”
I smile. Jenny will put his pompous ass in its place. I watch the scenery change outside and pretend not to be listening. The flanks of the highway have shifted from dense forest toindustrial factories. The smell of swampy sewer water leaks into the car despite the sealed windows.
“If you had called me back, I wouldn’t have needed to leave fifteen voicemails,” Jeff bites back.
“Everything is fine over here. Just focus on doctoring and let me handle this,” Jenny says.
Jeff’s knuckles have lost all color as he grips the wheel. I suddenly have the desire to plug my ears and hum. This conversation isn’t for me to hear, but this is the first time I’ve seen Jeff look so helpless and I’m surprised by how much I want to reach out and cover his hand with mine.
“Jenny, I need you to keep me updated. Stop ignoring me.”
A young girl’s voice titters in the background and Jenny is no longer listening.
“I’ve got to go, Jeff. Stop calling. Everything is fine,” she says.
“Jenny, don’t?—”
