Page 63 of Text Me Baby One More Time

“Fine,” she concedes, turning around to stare at me with hurt eyes. “I did try, but can you blame me, Shep? After everything?”

I look down at the cup in my hands, ashamed. “You’re right.”

“I know I am.” She turns her attention back to the shelves. “It’s nice to know you were watching me so closely though.”

“It’s impossible not to.”

She pauses at my words, but only for a second.

When she stops at the last shelf, I don’t miss the way her breath hitches, like she’s surprised I kept her gift all these years.

“I’ve read them all multiple times.”

Her shoulders rise and fall with her uneven breaths.

She likes that I kept the Captain America comics she sent me so many years ago. Even more than that, she likes that they’re bagged and boarded even with being so well read.

Denny gives herself a small shake and strides toward the kitchen, setting her mug on the counter. “You should be keeping them in sleeves. I’ll be ready to go in ten minutes.”

* * *

“Oh my god,would you quit it? I didn’t mess it upthatbad.”

“Thisis why I don’t let people drive Shelia.”

“You are so dramatic,” she mutters in that smartass tone of hers I love. “Just drive. We’re already late.”

“We wouldn’t be running late if you’d moved at more than a glacial pace this morning. You said ten minutes—that was definitely more like thirty.”

“I had to do something with the rat’s nest on my head.”

I glance over at her disastrous-looking top knot. “Well, you missed a spot—or ten.”

“It’sartfullymessy,” she argues.

“How did you forget to pack pajamas but not an outfit for the day?”

She points to the bag she’s holding on her lap. “That’s what us girls call an emergency one-night stand bag. I didn’t plan on needing pajamas.”

“You’re saying you planned on sleeping with me last night?”

She rolls her eyes. “This bag is not specific to our…situation last night. It’s just a general one-night stand bag.”

“Uh huh. You totally wanted to bang me last night, but I shot ya down. Couldn’t let you take advantage of me in the back of a truck.”

“I will yank Shelia right from your grip and run us into the nearest telephone pole.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” I seethe, gripping the wheel tighter just in case.

“Try me.”

I step on the gas, attempting to shave a few minutes off our drive…and keep Shelia safe from Denny.

There’s a small yip sounding like it comes from the vicinity of the passenger seat as the car lurches forward.

Huh. Weird.

Ignoring it, I turn on the radio, and the sounds of Sinatra fill the cab.

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