I grin back at him, almost vibrating with excitement.
We’re going on a road trip!
***
The road stretches out before us, endless in a way that makes time feel fake.
Colten’s driving with his hands tight on the wheel and posture overly straight, though he’s been slowly relaxing as the hours pass. For some reason, he doesn’t trust me to drive his car, so he gets the entire trip behind the wheel.
The A/C is blasting, fighting a losing battle against the late-June heat as my thighs stick to the seat, and his music is loud enough that I can feel the guitars’ aggression in my ribs.
I didn’t have time to create a playlist, but Colten had his CDs already in the car, so that’s what we’re listening to.
I don’t hate it, I just don’t understand it. But I do understand the way Colten’s fingers tap against the steering wheel in time with the drums, and the way his mouth moves like he knows every word even when he’s not saying them out loud.
So I just change out one heavy rock/metal CD for another, listening through each violent tracklist because it makes him happy.
And I want him to be happy.
It feels like we're balancing on something fragile. One wrong step and Colten might retreat right back behind that cold, professional distance he put between us before.
My chest tightens at the thought, and I immediately distract myself by digging through the pile of snacks in the bags at my footwell.
“What a great selection of snacks,” I announce over the music, holding up a bag of jerky like it’s a major championship trophy. “Whoever picked these has really good taste.”
Colten doesn’t look at me. “You picked everything.”
“Exactly,” I say. “Great taste.”
“You bought three bags of beef jerky.”
“They’re all different,” I argue. “One is teriyaki, one is spicy, and one is…” I check the label. “Peppered. That’s a lot of range.”
Colten glances over to where I’m waving a bag of jerky. “Didn’t you break up with Sammi Rodriguez because she ate beef jerky?”
“Sammi?” I frown, digging through my memories before it clicks. “Oh! C’mon, she ate itconstantly.Like, I don’t even know how she afforded it; it’s expensive!”
I grin, tossing it back into the bag. “Besides, there’s no need to be jealous.”
Colten stiffens. Maybe he does want some?
“I’ll share it with you,” I assure him. “Just let me know which flavor.”
“I’m not jealous of your sodium intake,” he shoots back, but there’s no heat to it. I’ll make sure to give him some later.
His fingers tap against the steering wheel, keeping with the beat of the music. Strangely, his fingernails are free of his black polish.
“You took off the nail polish?” I ask, curious. He almost always has some on, chipped or not.
“Of course,” he replies, letting out a sigh. “We need to look clean and professional for the combine, after all.”
“Ah, sure.” Couldn’t he just repaint them so it wasn’t chipped? Then again, I know absolutely nothing about nail polish, so maybe it doesn't work like that.
It’s too bad, since it always looks nice on him. He probably just didn’t have enough time to reapply it before we left earlier.
His nails just look wrong, being so clean and empty.
Feeling oddly unsettled, I grab my protein shaker and give it a little shake so he can see it.
