Life In Reverse(32)

“Twinkies?” We come to a stop sign right before the entrance to the highway. I look over to find her staring at the package on the console, her nose scrunched up. “That’s not a food. That’s a chemical.”

I try to rile her up with my evil glare but only succeed in making her double over with laughter. “Okay, okay. Favorite color?”

“Red,” she replies proudly. “Yours?”

My eyes fall to my black t-shirt and black Chucks and the choice is obvious. “Black.”

She rubs her hands up and down her arms on a slight shiver. “Avery likes black, too.”

“That’s because she’s smart.” Ember cackles and I press the button to lower the A/C in case she’s cold.

She kicks off her sneakers and rests her feet on the dashboard with a contented sigh. The lightness of it travels in the air between us and lands on my chest. It makes me feel a little less empty. As I sit with that, I hear her singing quietly to herself. Her voice is nothing to write home about but she doesn’t seem to care. Something else I really appreciate about her.

“So what’s your favorite novel?”

Her question drags my attention away from the asshat in the BMW who cut me off. If I was in my own car, I’d give him a run for his money. “Honestly, that’s a really tough question. I have a lot of favorites.” I pause to think about all the books I’ve read. I’m inclined toward many different genres which makes it hard to choose. “I can give you a few of them, though. I would say The Sun Also Rises by Ernest Hemingway, The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger, Mansfield Park by Jane Austen, and Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy.

“Wait.” She drops her feet down on the floor. I can feel her eyes grazing the side of my face. “Isn’t Anna Karenina an eight hundred page book or something like that?”

“Yup. Around eight hundred and sixty-four.”

“Wow.” Fascination fills her voice. “That’s crazy long. There’s no way I’d have the attention span for that.”

Brake lights signal traffic ahead and I change lanes. “I told you. I love to read. In fact, I’d rather read than do anything else. Except maybe play guitar.”

“You play guitar?”

I’m trying to discern whether her tone holds shock or awe. I’m also trying to figure out why it matters. “I do.”

“Interesting.”

“What is?” Traffic slows and I get a chance to view her expression. Her head is angled to the side, fingers outlining a frame through which she appraises me.

“I can totally see that. The hair. The earring. I bet you even have a tattoo.”

My head shakes again at her audacity, though it no longer bothers me now that I’ve gotten to know her better. “You crack me up. Look who’s making assumptions again.”

“Come on,” she coaxes, lifting her chin in the air. “Fess up. I know you have a tattoo.”

An obvious sigh of resignation gives her the proof she needs. “Maybe.”

“Aha!” She slaps her hand against the leather seat. “I knew it.” She looks me up and down before returning to my face. “Can I see it?”

I cock a single brow and smirk. “Are you sure you want to?” That one question is enough to make her cheeks blush pink and her eyes stray from mine.

“Oh. Um. Never mind.”

I find her so interesting. In one breath, she’s entirely confident. In the next, completely shy. There is an innocence to her I’ve yet to figure out. It’s… dare I say, sweet?

“Ember.” Her eyes slowly advance on mine, and again, her reticence makes me check myself and any comments I might have made. “You can totally see it. It’s on my upper back. Only not while I’m driving.” I hope the smile I put on for both of our benefits washes away her unease.

“What is the tattoo of?”

“It’s just three words.” I swallow and spit them out. “Lest We Forget.”

I don’t have to see her face to uncover the empathy I know is there, and when her fingertips lance my arm I do my best not to pull away. She leaves them on my skin and every second I feel them, my heartbeat picks up. A little voice in my head says to keep her at a distance. As it grows louder, I find myself gradually lifting my arm until her fingers fall away. The loss of her touch leaves me cold. But cold I know how to deal with.

“I didn’t picture you as a Honda girl,” I throw out, attempting to distract from the chill I’ve created in the air. She doesn’t respond right away and I sense she wants to say something. Tension mounts inside of me and I hold my breath as I wait. For some reason, she decides to let me off the hook and I breathe out a quiet sigh of relief.

“It was Zack’s car.” She clears what I interpret as emotion from her throat. “He worked three jobs one summer to save up for it. My dad wanted to help him out but he was determined to do it on his own… and he did.” Traffic comes to a dead stop and I watch her as she brings her knees up to her chest, thumb scraping over a patch of fabric on her jeans. “We had a lot of memories in this car. We made tons of plans for what our futures were going to look like. He…,” she glances up as if to gauge my reaction, “showed me how to smoke a joint in this car.” My eyes must show my overwhelming surprise because her head springs back. “What? I’m not a prude, you know?”