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He laughs.

I keep removing notes. Most are ridiculous.

Beck tries to read them. I yank them away before he can.

Then I reach the last one. It's tucked beneath the driver’s side windshield wiper.

I pull it free.

I like your laugh. You should do it more.

I stare at it. Something tightens beneath my ribs.

Stupid. It's a fucking sticky note.

I read it again.

I can't remember the last time someone told me they liked my laugh. Probably because I don't do it often. There isn't much in my life worth laughing about. I work. I sleep. I eat. Occasionally Beck annoys the shit out of me.

“Roman.”

I look up. Beck isn't smiling anymore. His eyes drop to the note, then back to mine.

Whatever he sees on my face has him clamping his mouth shut.

I fold the note once, then slide it into my pocket.

“What are you doing with those?”

“Throwing them away.”

“All of them?”

Probably not.

“Yes.”

He looks pointedly at my pocket.

I glare at him.

He’s too fucking observant.

He raises his hands. “I just asked a question.”

“Knock it off.”

He smirks, then helps me finish clearing my truck.

Beck holds up the one about my thighs. “You sure you don't want this one?”

I grab it and crumple it. “Positive.”

“Seems sentimental.”

“Get the fuck out of here.”

He laughs. “Where are you staying?”