I end the call and pocket my phone before turning to Silas. “Send me the address?”
“Nah, man.” He waves me off. “I texted someone else. Go home to your girl.”
“She’s not?—”
He slices his hand across his neck, cutting me off with a sharp whistle. “Spare me your shit and clock out, Wilder.”
“Thanks, man.”
“Don’t mention it.” He picks up my bag of goodies and hands them to me. “Keep me posted.”
TWENTY-SIX
SCARLET
“Areyou sure you don't mind driving me home?” I ask Clint for the hundredth time.
In hindsight, I regret agreeing to the ride. I’m exhausted and just want to go home and—holy shit, when did I start thinking of Ellis’s as home? I’ve only been there one weekend.
“Wouldn't have offered if I minded.” He inclines his head toward the west parking lot. “I'm over here.”
“Well, thanks, again.” I scan the lot, feeling apprehensive being out here in the open. “I really appreciate it.”
“I can't even imagine how you're feeling.” He stops in front of a cherry-red Impala. It's older but clearly cared for.
“It's... honestly, I'm just tired.” I shrug, and it feels like the weight of the world settles on my shoulders. I skim my fingers over the hood. “Wow, this is nice.”
Clint beams like I just told him he won a million bucks. “Thanks. She's my pride and joy.”
I roll my eyes but smile. “Spoken like a dude.”
He shrugs before opening the passenger door for me. “A guy's gotta have his hobbies.”
“That they do.” It makes me wonder what Ellis's hobbies are—you know, other than TV. It’s sort of mind boggling when Ithink about how long I’ve known him but how little I actuallyknowhim.
Even more surprising, I actuallywantto know all of these little things about him now. Somehow, in the span of a few weeks, he’s carved out a place for himself in my heart.
“What's the address?” Clint asks, turning the key in the ignition. The growl of the engine snaps me back to the present, and I rattle off his address.
He plugs it into his GPS and backs out.
Neither of us speak as he pulls out of the parking lot onto the service road, but the quiet in the car isn't the comfy kind like with Ellis. It's awkward and heavy...tense. But it might just be me. God knows, I'm not good company after the day I've had.
Clint breaks first. “So, how long have you worked here?” he asks, as he merges onto the highway.
“Going on five years. I started right out of school.”
“Is this where you see yourself for the foreseeable future?”
I tilt my head to the side as I try to digest his question. I love my job. It's rewarding and the hours are great, but I wouldn’t call it mydream job. But I also don’t know what my dream job would be. “Yeah,” I finally say, because I can’t think of anything else I’d rather do in place of it. “I think so. What about you?”
“I'm not entirely sure,” he confesses, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel to a tune only he can hear. “Working at the bar used to be fulfilling. But here lately, I find myself wanting something...more.”
“What made you apply here?”
He flicks his eyes my way. “My rent went up, and I needed to supplement my income. It was a toss-up between here and the hospital. I went with the one that replied first.”
“Gotcha.” I lay my head against the window, hissing as the cool glass kisses my face. “Well, on the bright side, good hours and great benefits.”
