My One and Only(58)

“Oh, yeah. But what about you? The airport was closed?”

“Yes. Some computer thing. Software. Whatever. I’m on my way to a bigger city. I should be home sometime tomorrow, maybe even late tonight.”

“Cool. Well, I just…I just wanted to check in.”

Huh. That was nice. “What are you up to right now?” I asked, hoping to prolong the conversation a little. It was reassuring to talk to Dennis. Uncomplicated. Every sentence wasn’t loaded with a quadruple entendre.

“I’m at work,” he said. “Might grab a couple beers with the guys.”

“Really? That sounds great.”

There was a pause. “So you’re okay, Harp?”

Did he mean okay about our breakup? “I’m fine, Den. How about you? You okay?”

“This is the most boring conversation I’ve ever listened to,” Nick observed mildly. Coco was standing on his lap, her tiny paws on his chest, obviously having changed her mind about him. One scratch behind the ears, and my dog was a whore.

“Who was that?” Dennis asked.

“Um…that’s Nick. He’s taking me to the airport.”

“Nick? Really?” Another pause. “Your ex?”

Did I have more than one Nick in my past? “Yes. The very same. He offered to drive me, there were no rental cars, it was kind of a mess.”

Nick turned to me. “Can I say hi?”

I shifted the phone away from my mouth. “Why? Do you have a man crush?”

“Let me talk to him,” he said.

“Den, Nick wants to say hi. I’ll see you back home, okay?”

“Okay. Hey, Harp, take care, okay?”

“You too, Den.”

Not without suspicion, I passed the phone to Nick. He grinned. “Hey, Dennis, my man. How’s tricks? Is that right? No kidding. Nope, actually I didn’t know that.” He glanced at me and raised an eyebrow. Well, crotch. If Dennis had just told him about our breakup, I’d be pretty pissed indeed. After all, it was personal, and Dennis shouldn’t be—

“She has her moments,” Nick said with a half grin. He listened for a second. “I know. Really? Huh. No, you don’t have to tell me.” He laughed, and I shook my head, disgusted. “She’s not bad, is she?”

“I hate men,” I muttered.

Nick shifted the phone away from his jaw. “Maybe you’re a lesbian,” he whispered.

“I wish I was.”

Nick laughed at something Dennis said. “Well, she’s mine for now, anyway.” I twitched, and the car swerved a bit. “Oh, yeah. She’s sweet, all right. In her own special way. Yep, that, too. Totally. Okay, good talking to you, dude. You too.” He closed the phone and put it down. “Nice guy you got there,” he said.

“It’s so eighth grade, Nick, talking about me when I’m sitting right here.”

“How do you know we were talking about you?” he asked.

“Oh, please. You were talking about me. You know you were.”

His smile grew. “Coco, is your mommy having a little hissy fit? She is? She has them all the time, doesn’t she? You poor thing.”

“You know what, Nick? You’re an idiot.”

“You know what, Harper? You’re doing ninety-three miles an hour.”

Whoopsy. I took my foot off the gas and slowed down. That was the thing with a car like this. Hard to stay moderate. My face felt hot.

“Coco, tell your mommy that not everything’s about her,” Nick said to my dog, who was now cuddled in his lap, staring up at him with her big brown eyes.

“Okay, Nick. You weren’t talking about me. ‘She’s not so bad. She has her moments. She’s sweet in her own way.’ What were you talking about then, huh?”

Nick smiled, his eyes crinkling. Not fair that men got more attractive as they aged. Not fair at all. “Well, you do have impressive recall, Harpy, but the truth is, we were talking about this car.”

My mouth opened, then shut. “She’s mine for now?” I asked.

“The car.” He glanced at me again. “It belongs to a friend of mine.”

Crotch! Nick did that on purpose, I just knew. I really did hate men. Especially this one.

After fiddling with the radio and finding no signal, Nick opened the glove box and pulled out his iPod, plugged it into the dashboard. He pressed a few buttons, and the husky voice of Isaac Slade, lead singer of The Fray, came over the speakers. “You Found Me.” One of my favorite songs. One of Nick’s too, apparently. The next group was Kings of Leon. I had the same song on my iPod. Not in the exact same order, but damn it, in the same playlist. Then came U2’s latest. Had it. Next was “Vida la Vida” by Coldplay, a song I’d probably listened to a hundred times.

“I think I’ve heard this one a little too much,” Nick said. “Mind if I skip it?”

“Nope. Go ahead,” I answered. Crikey.

So. We had similar taste in music. Not a surprise, I guess. We were both from the Northeast, both roughly the same age. Whatever. Still, it was a little unnerving.

We stopped twice more, me biting my tongue so hard I nearly drew blood and trying not to fidget as Nick voiced his fascination with the exciting dam and spillway in one town, and several huge grain silos near the train tracks. But eventually, we came to a town—a megalopolis, compared to what we’d seen thus far. Four blocks, a stoplight and everything. And, more important, a restaurant. Two, even.