Ten Below Zero(39)

I shut my mouth as we walked back to the hotel.



When we walked back into the suite, I immediately walked into my bedroom and closed the door, locking it for good measure. I needed my space. I didn’t want to fall into Everett’s bed and let it become a habit. Habits were hard to break. And I didn’t want to rely on anyone for a fix.

I slid out of the dress and heels, tugging on Everett’s shirt from before. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the flash of my phone’s notification.

I picked it up and turned it on, noticing six text messages in a row, all from the same sender.

Everett: You’re right, I do enjoy riling you up. But if I tell you why, you’ll run. And I’m enjoying my dinner too much to abandon it.

My breath caught. He’d been sending these at the table when he picked up his phone and ignored me.

Everett: So I’ll tell you via text instead.

Everett: I like seeing color flush your cheeks. When you’re angry, your cheeks burn bright.

Everett: I like seeing you feel something, even if it’s animosity.

Everett: It humanizes you. You’re so cold, I didn’t think you had any warmth in you.

Everett: But with your pink cheeks, I’d say you’re closer to five below zero now.

The last text did just what he’d set out to do-it made me angry. Angry enough that I stood up and walked towards the door, intending to give him a piece of my mind. But then I realized that would be just what he wanted. So I stopped, my footsteps stalling on the carpet in front of my door. I looked back at the bed, where I’d tossed the phone in anger. And I strode back to it with purpose in my stride.

Me: I’m changing your name in my phone to read “Asshole.”

A minute later my phone chirped.

Asshole: At least you’re keeping me in your phone.

And I was pissed off all over again.





We were on the road early the next morning. This time, Everett told me where we were headed.

“The Grand Canyon,” he’d said, turning up the music and drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.

“Good,” I’d replied, still clinging to the remnants of annoyance from the night before. “I can throw you off a cliff.”

He’d just grinned and slid his sunglasses on, happily singing along to the song on the radio.

Three hours into the drive, Everett pulled off at a gas station. While pumping gas, with my credit card this time, he received a phone call and walked away from the pump.

I took over the pump and tried discreetly watching him walk away. He had the phone pushed against one ear and a finger plugging up the other. We were at a large truck stop, so there was enough noise to make it hard to hear what he was saying.

At one point he unplugged his ear to wave it in the air. Whomever he was speaking with was frustrating him, it was clear by how he ran his hand through his hair, how he kicked at the dirt at his feet, and how he hung his head near the end of the call. People-watching had never bothered me, even when I’d been witnessing the most personal moments of someone’s life. But watching Everett struggling with whoever was on the other end felt like a major invasion of privacy.

I tore my eyes away and finished pumping. Noticing he was still on the phone, I went into the gas station and grabbed a fountain soda, intending to fill it with limes as soon as I returned to the vehicle. As I was ringing up my drink, I saw Everett get back into the vehicle and rest his forehead on the steering wheel. Something tugged within me then. So I grabbed a large coffee with just cream and returned to the car.

I opened up the passenger door, set the drinks in the center console, and then went to the backseat and grabbed a handful of limes from the cooler. When I returned to the front seat, Everett had collected himself. He was eyeing the coffee. I slid cautiously into the seat and opened up my soda, dropping in the limes.

“Is this for me?” he asked, confusion on his face.

“I hate coffee,” I said without really answering him.

He picked it up and looked at it with suspicion.

“I didn’t poison it.” I rolled my eyes. “You are, after all, driving us. I’m not an idiot.”

“You put creamer in it,” he said, peering into the cup from the mouthpiece.

I buckled my seatbelt. “Yes.”

“Thanks,” he said and leaned towards me.

Instinctively, I backed up. It was so quick that my head bumped the window and I winced. Had he been leaning in to kiss me? And that was my first instinct? To move away?

Everett looked confused. “Sorry,” he said shaking his head. “I don’t know why I did that.”

The words stung. They shouldn’t have, given my reaction, but they did. Tiny little pinpricks in my chest. I nodded and grabbed my soda like it was a lifeline, sipping from it and keeping my eyes trained ahead.

I saw Everett take a sip of his coffee out of my peripheral vision. “Thanks, Parker.”

I didn’t like this Everett. This polite, thankful, impersonal Everett. It felt unnatural, like I was traveling with a stranger.

I shrugged. “No big deal. You paid for dinner last night,” I reminded him. Though a steak dinner at a fancy restaurant wasn’t exactly on the same playing field as a gas station coffee.

“Right,” he said, distractedly. My skin itched. Where did this weird Everett come from?