I pull his jacket tight over my chest and hold it closed with one hand. “This stupid fucking dress.”
“No,” he says abruptly. When I raise my eyebrows, he clears his throat, looking suddenly uncomfortable. “I meantwhat I said at the bar. It’s a nice dress. Green is…um…you look…”
“Don’t bother,” I say when it’s clear that he’d rather cut his tongue out than say something nice about me. I motion to his jacket. “When will I give it back to you?”
His expression turns wry. “Do you really think we’ve seen the last of each other, Darling?” My face must give something away, because he asks, “Why do you hate it so much when I call you that?”
“Because it implies that we’re friends, which we haven’t been for a while.” Maybe it’s the alcohol, or maybe it’s just the way he’s looking at me, but my tone has lost all of this afternoon’s bite. I don’t have it in me to open more old wounds tonight.
“Huh,” West murmurs cryptically. “Are you hungry?”
“I would do something illegal to get my hands on a slice of Mount Lemmon pie.”
“The café closed down.”
My shoulders fall. “What? When?”
“A few years ago.”
“Oh.” I feel sadder than the situation warrants.
“I’d bet there’s another establishment in Tucson that sells pie,” he offers.
“It wouldn’t be the same.”
“I guess.”
“What else changed?” I ask, suddenly curious about how many of my memories this town has erased.
“Not much. Casa Video still rents DVDs, but now they have a craft beer bar where they screen films on the upper level.”
“Do they still have the velvet curtain with the adult titles behind it?” West and I were freshmen the first time westumbled upon that room, and I giggled uncontrollably for twenty minutes straight.
He raises his shoulders in an exaggerated shrug. “I wouldn’t know.”
I gasp. “West Emerson! Tell me you arenotrenting nineties porn!”
He laughs. “I have no idea if the velvet curtain still exists. I promise.”
“Mm-hmm,” I hum, suddenly giddy.
“Seriously.”
“Okay.”
“Is that a real ‘okay,’ or are you humoring me?”
“Whatever you say.”
He levels me with a pleading stare. “Please tell me you believe me.”
“Fine.” I twist my mouth so he won’t see me grin. “I believe you. Happy?”
“Yeah. Now c’mon, I’ll walk you to your hotel.”
“You don’t have to do that. Seriously. I’m fine. I used to haunt this campus after dark.”
“Weused to haunt this campus,” he corrects, “and you’re not as sober as I’d like you to be when you’re walking alone after dark.” His jaw flexes, a stubborn line forming on his lips. It doesn’t seem worth it to argue.
