Scarred for life?”
My brain is stuck on ‘girlfriend’ and I miss Jonas’s reply. The word echoes around my suddenly
empty brain like a marble in a bowl.
Girlfriend.
Why does that sound so terrifying?Datingwas so much easier to process. How did this happen?
Aren’t you supposed to have a conversation about it? That’s how they do it in those teen movies I
secretly binge-watch. The boy always asks the girl to be his girlfriend. It’s a whole thing. Not that I
need it to be a thing, but at least I’d know. I didn’t know I was a girlfriend. What do girlfriends do?
“Stop spinning out,” Zach orders, shaking my hand gently.
My eyes meet his, and I can’t seem to blink. I think my eyelids have fused. “Girlfriend,”I choke
out.
His lips flatten, and he sighs. “What did you think this was, Maya? I don’t date. Ever. I especially
don’t date employees.”
“I…I don’t know. I was just wrapping my head around the dating thing. Now there’s more. I don’t
have time for all this research.” Even I can hear the edge of hysteria in my voice. “I have to find a
bed, and figure out how to get to the bus station, and learn how to be a girlfriend, and it’s just a lot.” I
gulp in a big breath and hold it, counting to five, willing the dark spots in my vision go away.
“Get to the bus station,” Zach repeats in a low voice. “Why do you need to get to the bus station?”
The thick tension in the car is baffling. So is the watchful stares of both men.
“Abigail,” I mumble, staring down at the brown purse clutched in my lap. It doesn’t match my
nice new clothes, and that bothers me. It never would have before. I am changing a lot. Maybe too
much.
“Abigail?” Zach asks sharply. “Your friend. She’s coming here?”
“Yes. Her bus gets in at eleven. I was trying to figure out how to get a bed delivered before then,
but no one seems to be willing to do it. It’s maddening. Doesn’t anybody like money anymore? I
would have happily paid double, but nooo, they called me ma’am and said I’d have to wait.” I cross
my arms over my chest, disgruntled all over again. Jonas looks in the rearview mirror and gives Zach
a look that I can’t interpret. They’re having a full conversation with just their stupid eyeballs.
Ok, they’re not stupid. They both have lovely, brown eyes.
The silence from the back seat is deafening. I’m afraid to turn around and look at Zach’s face.
