“On a residential street? I think not.” I tip my chin but make a show of bracing myself against the glove compartment.
Miller angles his head, eyes glinting and with reflexes so much quicker than mine, he moves his hand, like he’s about to shift gears and really put his back into it. “You sure?”
“Miller,” I warn. “Do not.”
“Just a little?” he teases, one corner of his mouth lifted. He even accelerates, just a little. I don’t have time to fake a protest before he’s lifting his palm in concession. “Don’t worry, wouldn’t dream of risking your safety. The dinosaurs need you.”
But even if he had pressed down on the gas and done something entirely reckless and irresponsible and dangerous, I don’t think I would have felt unsafe. Not with him.
I don’t say any of that, though. I point weakly towards my driveway. “I’m right—”
“Here.” He palms the wheel, turning into the driveway. “I remember. Walked you home and found my way back the next day.”
“With provisions, thankfully.” I press a palm to my chest. “Another mark on your chivalry tally.”
His hand flexes when he puts the car in park, the ghost of a smile twitching on his cheeks, but he takes a measured swallow, a thumb tapping against the steering wheel. “Thanks. For coming ... and for playing a kids game.”
“Miller, I spend my days with dinosaur bones.” I widen my eyes. “Of course I came. I’ve never met a game for children I didn’t love.”
The smile turns corporeal. “And thanks for ... talking to my aunt and uncle.” He doesn’t look at me when he says it, but I’d like to think he looks just a little lighter than he did before.
“Have you been avoiding them because of what people say? About how Matt died?” I ask softly, unbuckling my seat belt so I can shift to face him.
“Part of it was ... guilt, yeah. But I haven’t ... I don’t know how to tell them I asked for a trade. Asked to leave them ... leave Matty’s memory behind.” Miller exhales with a rueful shake of his head. “At first, I didn’t ... I didn’t think it would be a big deal. Figured it’d never happen.” He knocks his head against the leather headrest. “But when Olson told me ... it became real andthe prospect of leaving”—he flinches, words spilling out like he’s rushing to correct himself—“became uh, even scarier than the idea of staying. That—that doesn’t seem so bad anymore.”
For some reason, his eyes flit to me when he says it, but then they’re back on my empty driveway.
“You don’t have to take it though, do you?”
He worries at the leather stitching on the steering wheel. “Uh, technically—no. I have a no-trade clause. I don’t have to waive it if I don’t want to, but I, uh, asked for it and Olson is doing me a favour so it wouldn’t ... look great.”
“What if you get traded somewhere you hate?” I lean across the console, dropping my voice to a whisper. “Like Florida?”
His mouth shifts with the hint of a grin again, and he bites down on his bottom lip before lifting his hand off the wheel. “I could veto it, or if I waived the clause and that’s where I ended up, I could refuse to report.”
“Would you do that?” I ask, propping my elbows up to rest my chin across interlaced fingers. I already know the answer, but I want to hear him say it—something certain and good about himself.
“Nah.” He shakes his head, a vehement and immediate no. “That’s not ... that’s not my style. It would suck to get traded somewhere I hated or didn’t want to play, and I know what people think about me. That I ... don’t care about anything. Cared too much about partying to notice that Matty ...” he trails off, hand flexing against the wheel again before he lets it go. “But it’s ... my job. The most serious thing in the world to me.”
I shrug a shoulder, dragging out my words. “I don’t know—word on the street might have changed. I heard a rumour that Miller Colson-Burke takes things very seriously, actually.”
“Oh yeah, like what?” He turns to face me, slouching in his seat and leaning his head to rest against the window.
I try not to notice the way the muscles on his thighs tense under his shorts when his legs spread across the leather.
My nostrils flare with an exhale, and I start listing things off before my cheeks can overheat. “Jurassic Parktrivia. Parking lot hot dogs. Aquarium strategy, and jellyfish. He’s a big friend to the invertebrates.”
“Big fan of the survival skills of the jellyfish, as it turns out,” he says, a lazy smile stretching up his face.
“Can I get that in writing?” I raise my brows. “Imani would be thrilled to know her two passions are intersecting—invertebrates and Major League Baseball.”
“What did, uh, Imani think about the job application?” His hand moves towards his hair, like he might tug on it, but he waves it through the air instead, clearing his throat. “I know you said the fossil collection wasn’t ... the best. What about the ones she likes? The ones without the spines?”
“She’d fall over dead if she heard you referring to invertebrates as ‘the ones without the spines’.”
“Am I wrong?”
“No.” I laugh softly before I sniff, thinking of her desperate pleas through made-up taxonomic structures and warnings about herd behaviour before resignation lined her face. “She wants me to do what I think is right.”
