“No.”
“I didn’t ask anything.”
“You breathed like a question.”
He grinned. “We drove two hours for Thai food.”
“I like Thai food.”
“You like Thai food in San Diego too.”
“This place is better.”
“Uh-huh.”
I picked up my beer and looked toward the window instead of answering.
Outside, Santa Monica moved in bright pieces. Cars. Tourists. Girls in dresses heading toward bars. Couples crossing the street hand in hand. College kids laughing too loud because they still believed every night out might turn into a memory worth keeping.
Pepperdine wasn’t far.
Destiny wasn’t far.
That was the part I refused to say.
Nate leaned back and tapped his fork against the edge of his plate. “You know, for a guy trying real hard not to hover, you’ve developed a fascinating number of errands within a thirty-mile radius of Malibu.”
“I had business.”
“Last week it was business. Tonight it’s noodles. Before that it was picking up a part from a guy who could have mailed it.”
“I don’t trust shipping.”
“You don’t trust yourself.”
I looked at him.
He smiled like he had scored a point and knew I wouldn’t punch him in public because the waitress liked us.
“Eat your food,” I said.
“I am. While observing your emotional collapse.”
“I’m not collapsing.”
“Brother, you are emotionally folded like a napkin swan.”
“I spent last night with Georgia.”
Nate’s fork stopped.
For once, I had surprised him.
He studied me carefully. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“How was that?”
