Page 50 of Cloudy With a Chance of Bad Decisions

Soon we’d move in together.

Soon we’d get a dog.

Soon we’d start our family.

Soon.

“Liars are the worst kind of people,” I agreed, bile climbing up my throat. It seemed Alex and I had found some common ground at last.

“I’d drink to that, but I’m driving,” Alex laughed, some of his usual cheer back already. “And I?—”

“Don’t have a drink,” I finished for him, because he was nothing if not predictable.

“Cute,” Alex’s lips curled into a smirk. I shrugged, ducking my head to gaze out the window again. The seat was soft. The leather clung to my ass in a way that was somewhat erotic—and should not at all be the design of a vehicle. It was slutty. Just like his t-shirt had been yesterday. Just like his Armani suit.

“Ha, ha.”

We were silent for a few minutes. Out of Chesterton and on the road toward our destination, it was easier to breathe. It was only one car ride. I could survive one car ride. Wasn’t like it was going to be a life-altering experience.

I didn’t hate Alex anymore.

But that didn’t mean I wanted to chat.

“George—“ Alex said.

“The small talk is unnecessary,” I cut him off. “Let’s get this over with.” I’d been a smidge…harsh yesterday when I’d told him I didn’t want to talk to him again. But still. It was beneficial for all of us if I stuck to that. It would minimize potential contention.

“Right.” Alex was quiet for another minute, hands flexing on the steering wheel.

I couldn’t help but stare.

They were lovely hands.

I’d thought so before.

His knuckles turned white from tension, the sound of his breaths coming a little faster, a little louder. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was nervous.Clench, clench, the veins on the top of his hands rippled as he squeezed.

“I…” Alex started, then stopped. He made a frustrated noise as he glared at the road. The trees that dotted the edge of the street grew wider apart as we drove. Soon enough, they’d disappear entirely, replaced by farmland once again.

I waited for him to finish his thought, but he didn’t.

Squeeze, squeeze, Alex continued to strangle the steering wheel.

Up ahead, the “Hell is Real” sign came into view. Black and white, it’d been a landmark that’d reminded me I was home for most of my life. Growing bigger by the second, I waited for the words to blur as we sped by. But they didn’t. Because instead of continuing toward our destination Alex slowed down. I frowned, turning to look at him as he pulled over onto the side of the road, wheels crunching on gravel.

“What the fuck?” I managed as he got out of the car. Concerned, I watched him stalk around the back to the trunk. Had we hit a nail or something and I hadn’t noticed? Was he fixing a tire?

Why was he?—

The trunk closed, revealing Alex once more, holding…pickles?

A giant jar of pickles.

When he rounded the vehicle to my side and pulled the door open, I wasn’t sure what I expected. To be kicked out? Told to walk because I hadn’t wanted to chat with him? To be beaten over the head with the jar and tossed into the corn?

“Here,” Alex said instead of murdering me.

His chest was heaving, shallow little pants as he shoved the jar of pickles toward me. I took them, bewildered.

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