Page 7 of The Art of Scandal

He raised an eyebrow. “You know those are bad for you, right?”

She wiggled her drink. “You know this isn’t a smoothie, right?”

“I don’t smoke tobacco.”

“That is very specific. Whatever you do smoke, I’ll take it.”

He laughed. She had a good voice. Deeper than he’d imagined. A little hoarse, like maybe that cigarette she wanted wouldn’t be the first. “Whatever’s going on can’t be that bad.”

“Because I’m famous?”

“Well, DC famous. You’re famous adjacent. That’s a good enough reason not to ask strangers if they’re holding.”

“Most of the people I know would refer me to a cannabis consultant who’ll make me fill out a fifty-page questionnaire about my lifestyle and weed goals.” She pasted on a fake smile and spoke with robotic enthusiasm. “Please use this Likert scale to rate how turnt you’d like to be at the end of your experience.”

Nathan laughed, and Rachel watched him with a triumphant grin, like the sound was her prize. It made his face warm. He cleared his throat and looked at the movie screen, pretending to watch the commercials.

“Where’s your date?” she asked.

“I’m not on a date. My friend, Dillon, he—” Nathan stopped, and swallowed the explanation she didn’t ask for. “I don’t know those girls.” He glanced at her bare feet. “Where’s your husband?”

She thumbed her wedding ring, turning it slowly around her finger, and didn’t answer. Marriage trouble—he shouldn’t be surprised. But he couldn’t imagine being married to a woman like Rachel Abbott and not tracking her like a bloodhound if she were this upset. What was it his father used to say? Behind every beautiful woman, there’s a guy dumb enough to think no one else wants to fuck her.

She tucked her hand inside the sweatshirt. “Do you live around here?”

“Yes,” he said, and ran a hand over his hair. He’d cut it shorter than usual and was starting to regret it. It made him feel exposed.

“You’re not much of a talker, are you?”

“I’m a better listener.”

“That’s a dangerous combination.” She focused on the movie screen. A private school commercial started competing with the drive-in’s jazzy elevator music. “Beautiful men aren’t known for their compassion. I dated a lot of them at your age. It’s all I wanted back then, a beautiful boy who gave me butterflies and paid for popcorn at the movies.”

He realized she didn’t mean it as a compliment.You’re too handsome to be worth anythingwas the implication. But no one had ever called him beautiful before. “So, what do you want now?” he asked, to keep her talking. He liked not being able to predict what she’d say next. The conversation was flowing like a simple painting that went sideways into something beautifully twisted while dragging his brush along for the ride.

“I don’t know.” Her voice was smaller, as if the question had drained her energy. “I haven’t thought about it in a while.”

Nathan forced a smile and pointed to the movie screen. “Well… I’d like movie options that were made in the last decade. This one’s cool and all, but—”

“You don’t have to do that,” she said, in a gentle tone still sharp enough to cut him off. “You don’t have to pretend it’s okay that I can’t answer such a simple question.”

Nathan nodded, not trusting himself to speak. She was chipping at a crack in a dam. He wasn’t sure what he wanted out of life either, which used to feel like freedom, but lately felt more like an excuse for being alone.

Rachel’s stomach growled loudly. She shot up with an embarrassed grimace. “Sorry.”

“Are you hungry?”

“I’m always hungry.” She frowned at her own words. “God, that sounds terrible. I do eat, but it’s all vegetables and protein. Fish. Chicken.” She groaned. “I haven’t had a burger in years.”

“Please tell me you’re lying.”

“I am not.” She said each word slowly, with overlong vowels. The drink was kicking in. Her face was softer, and the sweatshirt had fallen off one shoulder. It drew his gaze to a small freckle on her collarbone. He slid the sleeve back up into place, careful not to touch her skin.

“I miss sugar,” she said. “And bread.”

“There’s a gas station down the street. I could grab a Tastykake.”

“You don’t have a car.”

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