“Come on, he’s going to beat us to the truck.” I allow him to tug me along when he grabs for my hand this time. Even with his bag and mine, he still walks faster than me.
“How come you were so tired this morning?” If I’m here, I might as well make conversation, plus I selfishly want to know what he was doing last night.
“Lifting.” He groans as if he hates even thinking about it.
“Lifting what?” We’re at the truck now, and he opens the door and urges me to get in with a little pressure on the small of my back.
Oswald tosses our bags in the rear seat, climbs in next to me, and slams the door before answering. “Weights.”
“Oh, at the gym,” I surmise in a short breath. It’s hot as heck in the truck.
“It’s conditioning for football,” he says softly.
“Do you play here?” I remember the guy from math saying something about sports to Oswald that first day and him mentioning practice, but we’ve never talked about it.
“Someday,” he answers as Memphis gets into the truck.
“Someday what? Where are we going?” He slides the key into the ignition.
Oswald skips over the first part of the question. “It’s Waylynn’s turn to pick.”
“Please just pick. I have no idea where to go.” I make the mistake of turning my head to plead with Memphis, and he’s so close, I can see the flecks of gold in his blue irises.
I drop my gaze and face the front again. My god, they are both so attractive. I know why I’ve been thinking about them too much, and how good-looking they are is only a very small part of it. It might actually be easier to be around them if they weren’t so damn gorgeous. I’ve been so busy wondering why their voices are so familiar that I haven’t actually given thought to why they give me the time of day. Why do they hover over me like two older brothers?
“How come you guys invite me to lunch and to hang out?”
“What?” I can tell Oswald is gawking at me, even though I’m not looking at him.
I shrug, feeling uncomfortable, but I need to know the answer now that the question is in my head. It’s completely illogical to think they know anything about my past or feel sorry for me because of it, but my brain is telling me that must be the reason they are making an effort to be my friend.
Oswald looks over my head at his brother. Gosh, I wish I would have just kept my mouth shut.
“You act like we’re the only people who have talked to you,” Oswald replies.
“No, but you are the only ones who do stuff like this.”
“Like what?” Memphis asks.
He’s going to make me say it, ugh. “Make me go to lunch and actually seek me out.”
“Yeah, and why would that be?” Memphis coaxes like he thinks I already have an answer.
“I don’t know, that’s why I asked.” I know I’m not the picture of a dream girl. My jean size is in the double digits, and while I know slim thick is a thing, my stomach isn’t flat enough for that body type.
It’s not like I think I’m a troll, my mother blessed me with her pretty features, but I have my dad’s round face, so while I’m pretty, I’m not beautiful. I’m the friend, the safe girl to bring your boyfriend around, and I’ve always been okay with that. I’ve never really wanted to be too close to anyone or have a boyfriend because I come with a lot of baggage.
How do you explain to your boyfriend you won’t be around for several weeks because your parents think it’s best you go back to in-person treatment because your medicine isn’t working to diminish the voices in your head? There are only so many times you can pretend to be on vacation before people close to you start asking questions.
“Why do you think we want to spend time with you?” Memphis goads again.
“I just told you I don’t know.” I can honestly say I don’t think it has anything to do with my money. They couldn’t have known I come from a very wealthy family the first time they invited me to lunch.
Memphis pulls into a parking lot and turns off the truck. I expect one of them to open the door, but they just sit there. The silence stretches until it becomes as oppressive as the heat in the cab of the truck.
Finally, Oswald says, “You might think I’m crazy if I tell you.”
I jerk my head to the right and gawk at him. I want to ask him why he would use that particular word, but my tongue is glued to the roof of my mouth. I don’t want to say anything that will make him think I’m the one that’s insane, likedo you hear voices when it’s really quiet too?When I’m confident I’m not going to blurt the wrong thing out, I tell him, “I won’t think you’re crazy, I promise.”
