“Tact, Pup—learn it! Don’t fuckin run up on me and ask me something in a way that makes me feel like trash! Especially when deep down you already know the answer to your stupid ass question!” she gasped.
I swallow a choke.
Oh.
Slim’s ballplayer is a bitch.
That’s why she can’t say “why” and that’s why she can’t break up with him—at least not in the honorable way she deserves to. He’s that thing she’s running from—that thing I keep catching glimpses of when I get too close to her. He’s the reason she’s scared of me.
“So you be hittin that nigga back or what?” I hum out, making her whiskey-colored eyes grow.
“Excuse me?”
I press the lock again, and she jumps at the loud clank. I look away, shaking my head.
Tact…Pup. Use tact.
“When that nigga be hittin on you, do you feel brave enough to ball your fist up and hit his ass the fuck back for having the nerve to put his hands on you?”
It ain’t pretty or proper like the words that come out of her mouth, but I can’t help it because I’m desperate to know something that ain’t even my business.
Her top lip quivers like a baby’s, and it takes a minute for me to understand that her quivering lip is her answer to my question.
“That’s why you couldn’t say anything to him before you left him,” I reply. “You scared of him.”
“I never said that.”
“You ain’t have to.”
It’s in her words, expressions, and actions. It’s all over her.
She tosses her hands up. “You’re putting words in my mouth. I never said any of that. You can’t just…just say stuff like that.”
I shove the gearshift into park. “Get out.”
“Huh?”
“Get out,” I repeat, yanking off my seatbelt. “I wanna talk to you and I can’t do it up in here.”
I climb out, walk around the truck, and yank the passenger door open. She looks ahead at the creek with her chest rising and falling as if she’s trying to catch her breath.
“C’mon,” I mumble.
This ain’t the type of conversation to have in a restricted area. She needs to breathe in the outside air, and she needs space in case she feels like she needs to run away from me again. I get it even though I don’t wanna get it.
“Get out,” I grunt.
She looks over at me until I crook my finger at her like I did back at the house. It makes her turn her body and slide down the side of the truck until her sneakers touch the ground.
I step back. “Close the door.”
She grabs the door, eases in front of it, and pushes her back against it until it clicks into place. Afterward, she stares at me with uneasiness in her eyes.
I point to the left side of her body that she keeps conveniently keeping her weight off of. “If I’m wrong about him, then show me and I’ll shut up.”
She scoffs. “I amnotlifting my shirt for you. Have you lost your mind?”
Yeah, because I already know what’s there.
