Page 71 of Always Murder

“Into clothes.”

“I’m going to shower.Scoot over.”

I scooted, and Bobby climbed in beside me.We moved around until we were both lying down, my back pressed against his chest.Neither of us said anything.Bobby felt so warm.One arm, heavy and secure, held me against him, and every so often, his stubble would scrape pleasantly against the back of my neck.The rhythmic crash and fall of the waves filtered in from outside, and from downstairs came the sounds of Millie and Keme’s movie—there was a lot of swelling orchestral music, which meant they were watching something sappy and sweet and probably Christmas-y, perfect for a couple who had just finished making up.

“I’m bad at tests,” Bobby said.

“Huh?”

(Again, not my strongest conversational gambit.Butyoutry being engaged and thoughtful when you have a naked hunk of hunk squeezing you against him.Andin bed!)

Bobby only laughed quietly, though, and for some reason, he pulled me even closer.His chin settled on my shoulder.“I’m really bad at them.I mean, it’s like a joke in my family.I study.I know the material.I can do flashcards and practice exams and all that stuff and get everything right.And then as soon as I sit down with the actual test, it’s like my head goes blank.I can’t remember anything.I can’t even think.”The dry amusement that came next didn’t quite hide the bitterness.“That makes it hard to get into med school.”

For a few seconds, I let his words sink in.I rubbed his hand, and then I laced our fingers together.I settled for what I thought was a very Bobby-like question: “I thought you didn’t want to go to med school.”

“I didn’t.And that’s what I told my parents.But it’s not super convincing after they’ve seen your MCAT scores.”

“Bobby—” There were so many things I wanted to say.Things that, maybe for now, were off limits, because I hadn’t met Bobby’s family yet, and I didn’t know if it was my place to say anything.So, I settled for “Tests are so dumb.They’re so problematic.They don’t mean anything.”

“I know.Except when they do.”

And then I asked the question I should have asked earlier: “Is there a test for the detective position?”

“Yes.”

“But Bobby, if youwantto be a detective, we can figure this out.There’s got to be a way.We can do some research.I can help you.”And somehow, because I’m notalwayscompletely hopeless, I managed to bring the crazy train to a halt and say, “If, uh, that’s what you want to do.”

“I don’t know,” he said.And after a few seconds, “I guess I should try.”

He would; I knew he would.Because Bobby was nothing if not a guy who tried.He always tried.And he tried his hardest.The way he was trying to get better at communicating, at helping me understand what was going on inside his head.He was trying to be better about being honest about his feelings.About being vulnerable.

And this, right now, was evidence of how far he’d come.(Also, when he’d told me off earlier, but I was less thrilled about that part.) Here Bobby was, telling me he was—what?Scared?Anxious?Not confident about his ability to do something, which for him must have been terrifying, because Bobby was always so good at everything.

Love meant learning to see people differently, and that was true for me as much as it was for Millie.I knew Bobby wasn’t perfect; we’d had enough ups and downs for me to know that we both had things we needed to work on.But I was starting to realize that there was this part of me that still saw him as—to put it in the vernacular—fundamentally having his shiz together.And it wasn’t fair for me to keep imagining that Bobby was this perpetually unruffled bastion of calm and patience and confidence.He was a human being.Like everybody else, he got disappointed and frustrated and, yes, even scared.If we were going to make this work, he needed to know that he could be himself with me—not the perfect boyfriend or the amazing deputy or the easygoing surfer, but Bobby Mai, a real person.And he needed to know that I saw him, the real him, and I loved him.

I squirmed around until we were face to face.It was harder than it sounds because he had a pretty good grip on me, and I got the feeling Bobby wasn’t exactly thrilled about this next, look-into-each-other’s-eyes moment.But I made it work.He still looked tired, his eyelids drooping, his hair out of its careful part and spilling over his forehead now.I leaned forward until my nose booped his.

“Hi,” he said quietly.

“I forbid you from becoming a detective.”

He stared back at me for a couple of seconds.“What?”

“I won’t have it.Not in this household, mister.”

“Is this your mom again?”

“BOBBY!”

“You’re yelling in my ear.”

“Oh my God, I’m sorry.”In a softer voice, I tried again.“Bobby!No, this is not me being my mother.This is me being supportive and loving and the perfect boyfriend.”I could see I was losing him at the end, so I hurried to say, “I do not want you to take that test.I do not want you to do anything you don’t want to do.I don’t have any unspoken expectations.I don’t have any secret desires.”

For some reason, that made him smirk.

My face heated.“And this is not one of those things where I tell you I don’t want something, but I secretly do, and the whole point is to see if you’ll do it anyway to prove that you love me, and if youdon’tdo it, it means we can’t communicate and you don’t love me and this whole relationship is doomed.”

“You are a very complicated person.”

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