Page 32 of Betsy
“Sounds fun.” Jimmy grinned. “Marcus will play too.”
“Do I have a choice?” Marcus’s voice was muffled from the back of the bus.
“No,” Jimmy answered.
We all looked to Betsy to see if she’d join our fun. Her dad wasn’t here to make her, like Marcus’s. She rolled her eyes and plopped onto the bench seat on the other side of Tricia.
“Who’s going first?” Tricia asked.
“I have one for Marcus.” Jimmy gripped the side of the captain chair he twisted in to be in on the game. “Would you rather only be able to respond in emojis or never be able to text again?”
Marcus looked up from his phone, where he’d clearly been in the middle of typing out a text. “Easy. Emojis.”
Jimmy shook his head. “I don’t even get what half those emojis mean.” He’d lowered his voice to only project to the middle of the bus instead of all the way back to the sleeping area. “Or the way the kids use them. For instance, what does the guy in the suit levitating even mean? Or the octopus? Why does Marcus’s girlfriend text him octopuses all the time? I don’t get it.”
“The octopus emoji means cuddles or a virtual hug,” Betsy explained. “You don’t have to worry until they start sending each other eggplant or peach emojis.”
Jimmy’s forehead folded into four horizontal lines. “Fruit and veggie emojis are bad? Why?”
Tricia cleared her throat. “I’ll go next.” Her upper body squared toward me as she twisted at the waist. “Would you rather have seven fingers on each hand or seven toes on each foot?”
“Fingers,” came my automatic reply.
Her brows rose. “Really? But you can hide extra toes in shoes.”
“Yes, but can you imagine the songs I could make my guitar sing with seven fingers? It would be epic.”
She snorted as she looked at me with the indulgence of an older sister. “Only you’d think about how having more fingers would improve your music.”
I laughed. “Guilty.” I rubbed my palms together. “Okay, my turn. Who should I ask? Hmm.” My gaze rested on each person in turn. Jimmy—duck. Tricia—duck. Marcus—duck. Betsy. I grinned. Goose.
“Betsy, would you rather be able to travel back in time or be like Marty McFly and visit the future?”
Her body instantly stilled and her eyes rounded as if she’d been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. I’d hit a nerve with that question.
She swallowed. “I’ll take a trip to the past for a thousand, Alex.”
“How come?” I pressed. There was more to her answer than she let on.
She tsked. “Explaining one’s answers isn’t part of the game. I believe it’s my turn now.” She didn’t miss a beat. “Jimmy, would you rather always get green lights at traffic stops but never find a parking spot or always get the best parking spot and hit every red light?”
Jimmy groaned. “That’s a hard one.”
We played a few more rounds before Jimmy complained about his back hurting from the odd angle he had to hold himself in to face us and switched positions in his seat to look out the windshield. Tricia pulled out her phone to text her husband. Apparently, he was just waking up wherever he was in the world, and she always liked to tell him good morning and that she loved him at the start of his day.
Betsy stood and shuffled toward the back of the bus. I should probably have gotten my notebook and pen from the messenger bag I’d set on one of the beds earlier. I still had a couple of songs I wanted to work on.
The bus swayed as I stood, and I reached out and pressed a palm to the cool window to balance myself. Once settled, I let go and strode down the narrow walkway in the center.
Betsy straightened, a book held to her chest. It was like being on an airplane and meeting another passenger going the opposite direction. There was no way we’d be able to cross paths without our bodies being pressed closer together than a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
For the second time in less than an hour, I struggled with a part of myself that wanted to do something other than what I knew to be the smart and right thing. The part of me that wanted instant gratification urged me to stand my ground. Turn sideways so she could slip by, but use the proximity to my advantage. Maybe I could overwhelm her senses like she overwhelmed mine.
I shook my head. That was short-sighted, and I’d already committed to the long game. Besides, taking advantage of the situation and the tight space and pressing myself unwantedly upon her person—wasn’t that what she expected “someone like me” to do? I couldn’t prove anything with those actions.
Denying my desire to be close enough to breathe her in, for her to have no choice but to see me for who I was and not through the tainted filter in which she viewed me, I took a step back. I’d retreat until the space widened and she could walk past without even the hint of a graze between our bodies. My heat would not jump out to warm any part of her.
The bus lurched as if Dave had slammed on the brakes. Betsy’s caramel eyes widened, and she pitched forward. I caught her, my arm coming around her waist and the palm of my hand pressing into the small of her back to offer support. The moment caused me to stumble, but I planted the ball of my foot into the floor and countered our balance while reaching one hand up to grip the rail a curtain was hung from to give the bunks privacy and block the light.
