More Than I Could (46)

The sly smile he gives me makes it clear he knows what I’m doing but is willing to play along.

“I’ve been working,” he says.

“Looks like it.”

He laughs. “I work here at night part-time—mostly because I like it, and if I have too much time on my hands, trouble seems to find me.”

“I believe that.”

My sandwich is buttery and cheesy—grilled cheese perfection. The first bite leaves a trail of oil down my chin.

“During the day,” Gavin says as I dab a napkin to my face, “I work at Cotton’s.”

I put the napkin on the table. “I have heard about Cotton’s many times this week, and I have no idea who the guy is.”

“He’s a farmer,” he says. “He owns half of this county. His farm isn’t far from where you broke down last weekend.”

“What do you do for him?”

“A little of everything. Tend to the animals. Work on equipment. Bale hay. Seed, fertilize, harvest. You know—farm work shit.”

“Sounds like you’re a real Renaissance Man.”

He leans back in his chair and nods. “That’s me. Jack-of-all-trades.”

I take another bite. Oh my heavens. This is delicious.

Gavin studies me for a long time. If he’s waiting on my cue, he’ll have to wait until the cows come home because I’m not leading this conversation. Not when I think he wants it to go in a particular direction I’m trying to avoid.

“Do you know what’s funny?” he asks finally.

“What’s that?”

“Here we are, best friends and all, and I don’t know anything about you.”

“That is funny.”

He narrows his eyes, making me laugh.

I take another drink and settle in. “Fine. What do you want to know?”

“What do you want to tell me?”

“Nothing.”

He laughs. “Wrong answer.”

“Gavin, really—what do you want to know? My birthday? Favorite color? Favorite Paula Abdul song?”

He sits up like we’re about to square off. “Birthday?”

“July twenty-eighth.”

“Color?”

“Vermilion.”

“Fancy,” he says.

“It’s color perfection.”

He nods. “Noted. Paula Abdul song?”

“I’d say ‘Straight Up,’ but the video for ‘Opposites Attract’ is perfection,” I smirk. “You have no idea who Paula Abdul is, do you?”

“I’ll YouTube it later.”

“Cool.”

We stare at one another like we can’t decide if we’re friends or enemies. Our eyes are narrowed, brows furrowed. It stays that way until the corners of Gavin’s lips begin to pull to the ceiling. They bring mine up along with them.

“Your turn,” I say. “Birthday, color, and … Aerosmith song.”

“February first, cerulean, and ‘Cryin’’ is the best Aerosmith song of all time.”

I make a face. “Wrong answer.”

“How can it be wrong? They’re my favorites.”

“Everyone knows that Aerosmith’s best song is ‘Rag Doll.’ Maybe I’ll agree with ‘Dream On’—maybe. But it’s not ‘Cryin’’ in any way, shape, or form.”

He grins. “Have you seen Alicia Silverstone in that video? I rest my case.”

Together, we laugh.

Gavin stretches his legs out, much like Chase does when he’s itching to get up after dinner but is polite while Kennedy and I chat.

“Do you need to go?” I ask.

“No. Why?”

I shrug.

“I saw Patti this morning,” Gavin says. “We were getting gas at the same time. She asked me for your number, and I told her that I didn’t have it. She thought I was lying.”

“Why would you be lying?”

“Well, you know,” he says cockily. “I usually end up with women’s numbers.”

I scoff.

“You think I’m kidding?” he asks. “I don’t know who ninety percent of the people are in my phone.”

I believe that wholeheartedly.

“You don’t have mine,” I say. “That says something.”

“I don’t have yours because you’re … you.”

“What does that mean?” I ask, trying not to be offended.

“You’re my friend. I’m not trying to hook up with you.”

“Should I take that personally? According to your brother, you try to hook up with everyone.”

He chuckles. “Well, according to my brother, I’m not allowed to try to hook up with you.”

Gavin holds my gaze, letting that sink in.

Chase has banned Gavin from trying to hook up with me? What the fuck?

“Not that I want to hook up with you,” I say, making that clear. “But why does Chase give a shit about who I hook up with?”

Gavin gasps. “You wouldn’t hook up with me?”

“Gavin.”

“What’s wrong with me?” He looks hurt. “And don’t say I’m not your type because I’m everyone’s type.”