Page 26 of Up in Smoke

His body language and tone of voice add a deeper layer to his question, though. Maybe it’s more than a self-serving inquiry. IfI didn’t know better, I’d think he’s been reading my cues during this car ride, and so far, can’t figure them out like he wants to.

“Maybe a little,” I admit. I’ve never played hard to get in my life before Tripp asked for my number. He made me smile, and my skin was tingling all over when he kept going despite me softly turning him down. It still is. Sticking to my guns felt empowering and strangely disappointing at the same time. My voice softens so that it doesn’t easily carry through the entire car. “But I guess the truth?—”

Stopping myself short, I close my lips in a sheepish smile. He doesn’t need a full rundown.

I know all too well what disinterest looks and feels like after saying too much, and it’s not enjoyable in the least. I don’t want to come off like I’m starved for conversations where I can either stand up for myself or lay my insecurities on the line without being judged.

Sensing my hesitation, Tripp crosses his arms, tilts his head, and patiently waits for me to continue instead of giving me an out.

We have nothing better to do on this drive, and the oddly comfortable air between us convinces me to spill more details to him.

“Okay,” I start, abandoning my reluctance in favor of full disclosure for a change. “My track record with guys is just plain embarrassing. I’m clingy. Or . . . maybe too easy to win over. Something like that. I kind of promised myself I wouldn’t hook up with anyone for a while so I can focus on other stuff and gain some resolve.”

It’s a pathetic predicament for a grown woman to find herself in, let alone admit out loud. He doesn’t immediately laugh though, so I relax a little.

“It’s okay if you want to make fun of me for vowing against romantic entanglements like a scorned divorcée,” I add to keep the mood light.

Tripp’s new grin is lopsided, and he lightly puffs air through his nose. “I’ll come up with a way to give you shit for it eventually.”

“I look forward to it.” I laugh right along with him, light and easy. My left leg bends, resting against the driver’s side door, and I lean back on the seat’s headrest.

“You wanna be friends instead?” he asks.

The car accelerates as we take the on-ramp to the highway that leads to the city. My eyes stay intensely glued to the road, and my palms run the length of the shiny leather steering wheel until we’re merged with traffic. I’d hoped something intelligent would come out when my mouth finally opened again. No such luck.

“. . . What?”

“Friends,” he repeats with a shrug. “I came on strong last night, but I get where your head’s at. My head says we should be friends.”

“Your head with a brain?”

He chuckles, unfolding one of his arms to rub the back of his neck. “Yeah. That one.”

Should I be offended or relieved? Unfortunately, I’m neither. I’m certifiably sick and twisted because a teeny tiny part of me wanted his head to tell him to be obsessed and pine after me within an inch of his life until he finally wears me down.

Every hopeless romantic’s dream.

God, I’m a lost cause.

I bite my lip while trying to nail down his true motive. It’s unfair for me to rely on hearsay, but I’m venturing to guess that needy girls who fall too fast and easy are a major turn-off forhim. Girls like me. Maybe asking for friendship as an alternative makes sense, coming from Tripp.

“I actuallywantto hang out again,” he adds, reading my thoughts. “I’m not just throwing a random idea out there for shits and giggles, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“Friendship as a consolation prize for not letting you dick me down would be crazy work.”

“Hooking up,” he quickly corrects with a raised brow, as if it’s a better descriptor. Maybe it is, but I don’t think sex with Tripp would be anything less than vulgar. Might as well call it like it is.

“But no,” he continues with a lowered voice. “It’s not a consolation prize. More like a passed note in middle school,” he jokes. “Do you want to start hanging out and argue over baseball or how you think the memes I send you aren’t funny? Check yes or no.”

He can’t go longer than five minutes without making my chest rumble with laughter. If I take that as a sign, my answer should come easily.

Tripp sneaks a quick glance to the back seat, then shifts his focus back to me, waiting for a response. What’s devastating is that some other girl is going to end up getting railed between his sheets until she screams instead of me. Lucky bitch.

And yet, as a woman trying to turn the page on her failed attempts at love, I know that Tripp and I work better this way. When it comes to the bunkhouse’s resident ladies’ man, I have no business getting caught up in wild fantasies about being the subject of his next conquest.

I like him. Other than our single shared interest and a handful of connected, witty moments, I’m not exactly sure why yet. It feels weird to acknowledge, but I’m drawn to him. It’s like my soul knows something that my conscious mind has yet to figure out.

Mind made up, I nod confidently.

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