Ten Below Zero(41)

“Do you mind?”

“No, I don’t.” He grinned at me. There was something about the way he looked, with his scruff and his sunglasses concealing his icy eyes. His hair was sticking up and actually seemed styled. He looked so at ease with himself, and I couldn’t help but let my eyes travel down his chest, taking in the short sleeves of his tee and the muscles they exposed. I let my eyes travel back up to his face again, which was facing the road again. I’d made fun of him for his hair before, but the truth was it suited him. It wasn’t floppy nor was it perfectly styled. It was thick, inky black, and did its own thing.

Everett was handsome. I hadn’t known before if he was society’s idea of handsome, but that didn’t matter. He was mine. With his wide smile, his scruff, tanned skin, he lit a fire within me that I thought had been dormant.

“What are you thinking?” His voice interrupted my thoughts.

“That you are very attractive.” I couldn’t lie. Not just because of the rules, but because Everett made it hard to tell a believable lie.

Everett turned to look at me. My left side was facing him, and I’d put my hair up in a pony. There was no concealment of my scar. But it was as if Everett didn’t notice it when he looked at me. His eyes never dwelled on it. He only ever acknowledged it when he was kissing and touching me. I crossed my legs then, thoughts of Everett touching me flooding my memory.

“You’re beautiful, Parker.”

I shook my head. Compliments were uncomfortable to listen to.

“I don’t need compliments.”

“I know,” he said, pulling in a gas station. “But I won’t lie to you. And I’m compelled to say what’s on my mind. So get used to it.”

“I’m trying.”

“Good.” He parked the car and leaned across the console, coming close to me. “I want you to try.”

His words brought me back to the rules. And then I noticed our surroundings. “We’re not getting gas?”

“We’re eating. Lunch. There’s a small diner inside. All I’ve seen you consume today are soda and limes, so I want to put something with a little more sustenance in your belly.”

I followed him into the diner, one long row of brown booths. It looked like it was straight from the seventies. There were a handful of older patrons at the counter, sipping coffee and eating pie. It reminded me of the first breakfast I’d shared with Everett, in a restaurant similar to this one.

Our waitress, an older woman with a wild mane of red hair, led us to our table. Everett ordered a coffee and I ordered water with limes. My mouth puckered in anticipation.

While we perused the menus, I kept sneaking glanced at Everett. He’d slid the sunglasses to the top of his head, effectively moving back the hair on his forehead and exposing his scar. My eyes followed, morbidly fascinated by the idea of having a head cut open. His eyes lifted and he caught me staring.

“It’s rude to stare,” he said.

I didn’t apologize. Instead, I shrugged and turned my attention back to the menu, my eyes gliding over the many laminated choices, but I was distracted by Everett setting his sunglasses on the table and running his hand through his hair.

“Do you know what you want?” The way he said it, I knew he had a double meaning.

“I do,” I said. His eyes glittered at my answer.

The waitress returned with our drinks and took our orders. Everett deferred to me.

“A cheeseburger with fries. I’m not picky.”

“She wants extra cheese,” Everett interjected. "And I’ll have the same thing.” The waitress took our menus and walked away, leaving Everett leaning on the table on his elbows, staring at me.

“I still want your story, Parker.”

“I don’t have a story. I’m a foster kid. At eighteen, I was attacked. And here I am three years later, sitting in this diner with you.”

“I know there’s more to you than that.”

“What is it you want to know, exactly?” I sipped my water through the straw and then stirred with the straw as I swallowed.

“Do you know who your parents are?”

I shook my head. “I don’t remember them. Just vague little things.”

“Did you have any good foster parents?”

“Sure.” My hands played with the napkin my drink was on. It was a nervous habit of mine, to straighten the corners of papers and napkins. “They were all basically good people. But I was a foster kid, you know?”

“Meaning they didn’t form any emotional attachments to you?”

“I didn’t form attachments to them. After the third family, I started rebelling a bit. I was twelve. There wasn’t anyone to disappoint. My foster parents were annoyed with my shenanigans, but that’s all.” Once the words left my mouth, I squeezed my lips tightly together. I hadn’t meant to say so much.

“Do you have anyone in your life?”

“I have Mira.” Why was I saying so much? I sucked my lip into my teeth and bit.

“Who’s Mira?”

I didn’t think I could lie and evading the question would only encourage him. “She’s the one who found me. She saved me.”

“When Morris Jensen attacked you?”

I nodded and sipped my water. “I don’t remember the attack. That’s why I won’t testify. There’s no point if I can’t remember. All I remember is the asphalt, warm under my body. I was covered in blood. And then I smelled smoke and there she was, Mira.”